


Wolves Without Teeth

by vanderloo



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Derek Hale is Bad at Feelings, F/M, M/M, McCall Pack, Most of the time, Pack Feels, Post-Season/Series Finale, Scott is a Good Friend, Slow Build, Stiles Stilinski is Part of the Pack, Texting, Wendigo, season 7 imagined
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-01
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-13 21:01:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 71,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29782032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vanderloo/pseuds/vanderloo
Summary: Out of all the things Stiles had come to realise in his entire life – including werewolves beingreal– the most continual thing was that he was basically an impending doom magnet. And when he stumbled onto what was possibly the biggest government cover up inhistory, the last person he expected to have was back was Derek Hale, of all people.Except Derek was looking at him like he thought Stiles was a waste of space. It was a look Stiles was unfortunately familiar with.--Season 7a imagined. Stiles kept in touch with Derek when he left for college, exchanging text messages and the like, and Scott isn't happy about it.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 49
Kudos: 105





	1. Aimant

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:** Probably some brief mentions of past panic attacks. Canon typical violence. Some bad jokes and bad language.
> 
> Title is from "Wolves Without Teeth" by Of Monsters and Men.
> 
> So, I totally intend this to be a post-series finale fic, where everything that happened _happened_. However admittedly I barely remember anything post-3b for obvious reasons so if there are some things or some characters that really don't make sense in the timeline, forgive me. Tags are a work in progress.
> 
>  **Chapter Title Translation:** Aimant - Magnet

Out of all the things Stiles had come to realise in his entire life – including werewolves being _real_ – the most continual thing was that he was basically an impending doom magnet. Bad things happened around him and followed him like a weird smell, like the ghost of a fart he couldn’t get rid of. Or something more poetic than that.

Despite his courageous efforts to keep himself out of the spotlight for the time being, after the gang pretty much went their separate ways and Scott became some kind of master Jedi to the betas, Stiles still managed to attract danger wherever he went.

Even to Washington, where he’d fruitlessly attempted to give himself a semi-normal life as a training FBI agent for the state. It’d come as a shock to the others, sure, especially Lydia who – _shockingly_ – declared her love for Stiles during the final battle. And Stiles felt like he’d won the lottery and was in disbelief, because no way was he that lucky. Being apart had put a strain on them, sure, but they still contacted one another every day with quick updates and the occasional joke or jab or maybe some kind of research question about werewolves.

But for the most part Stiles was alone. And he liked it that way.

For a while, at least, since the most stimulating conversations he could muster up from anyone at the academy simply consisted of mundane things like football or baseball or something about a party somewhere. And while there wasn’t any chatter about werewolves or kanimas or, you know, the inevitable _we’re all going to die soon_ , Stiles found himself…kind of missing it? Kind of missing that need to be _needed_ when the shit hit the fan.

And he missed busting chops and saving the day every now and then. Not that his time at the FBI had been entirely unenjoyable – because it had been– but still, Stiles felt himself missing Scott and the others. Even Derek and Liam. And all the crap that came with them.

So, yeah, Stiles was alone.

Until he stumbled onto some buried evidence one night when he was elbow deep in criminal files in the middle of the academy’s library. He inhaled sharply, forgetting he’d been sucking on a highlighter lid for the past ten minutes, and choked it up and onto the files scattered across the table. The one in question was tattered and worn like it hadn’t been touched in a decade, but that just made it more interesting. He flicked through the pages one by one, eyes scanning for anything that sounded interesting.

And then he’d found something. Something he’d recognised in another file. Dismembered bodies, some missing limbs and some missing organs, all dumped at the side of a road or in a garbage can somewhere just outside of town. Which town, you ask? Well, like Stiles even had to guess at this point. Beacon Hills – better named _Silent Hill,_ if you asked him. Those games were all sorts of messed up. It was a fitting match.

But why wasn’t that kind of thing made public? It seemed to be a real eye opener for the cases, linking them all together that there might be a serial killer in their midst. Or worse.

After about a week, Stiles had already missed four classes and was getting an ass kicking from his professor. But it didn’t really matter because he’d struck _gold._ Everything fit in with his theory. Finally.

So the first thing he did was dial Scott.

“Nngh?” Came the response from the other end. Stiles was surprised he even picked up in the first place.

“What great phone etiquette you have. Rise and shine, Scotty.”

“Do you know what time it is?” Scott moaned back through the line, and after some shuffling – presumably from him stumbling out of bed and checking the time – there was a loud gasp. “Shit! I’m late.”

“I’m sure those injured puppies can wait. You gotta hear this.” Stiles told him seriously, flicking through the papers scattered across his desk. He’d been sitting in his dorm room for the past four hours. And three coffees later he’d made headway. “Listen, I—”

“Stiles, I gotta go.” Scott barked back. “Call me after work.”

And then the phone line went dead. Good to see Scott hadn’t grown out of _that_ annoying characteristic – hanging up on Stiles the moment he needed him the most. Stiles angrily slammed his phone back on his desk and watched it bounce back in protest. Sighing, he picked it back up again. “Sorry, baby. I won’t do it again.”

Except he probably would. And if his cell phone could talk, it’d probably say it wouldn’t hold its breath.

After some deliberation, he decided to text Derek.

He and the Alpha had kept in contact after everything, graduating from their mutual hatred to a mutual _I’ll put up with you._ It wasn’t exactly a great alliance from the beginning, but at least Derek always got back to him. And truth be told, Stiles liked it. He liked having someone to talk to sometimes – someone with the same shared trauma – even at the most inappropriate hour when he had a stupid werewolf or supernatural question or simple wanted to talk shit with someone. And again, Derek always text him back.

It must have been driving Braeden crazy. But if it did, Derek never mentioned it. He was as stoic and straightforward at texting as he was everything else. All one word answers and periods and proper grammar.

**Derek:** _What kind of monster?_

Stiles did a fist bump into the air because someone actually took him seriously. The weird part was that it was Derek Hale, of all people.

**Stiles:** _ok, hear me out. there was a bunch of mutilations in beacon hills a couple years back, but none of this stuff ever got leaked to the press. id never even heard of any of it til now_

**Derek:** _And just because it was hidden from the press you’re suspicious?_

**Stiles:** _i’ve never been wrong before_

**Derek:** _I’ll look into it._

And that was good enough, for now. Stiles put his phone back down and got back to work. He had no idea if there were any other leads, but he was surely going to find out if there were. Stiles wasn’t normally one to immediately jump to a specific creature when something seemed outlandish, but this time everything pointed to it. So, he turned his attention to his laptop and started researched Wendigo myths and legends.

A lot of things just led him to that episode of _Supernatural_ with the same name, but he figured he might as well give that a try too. He had to learn everything, after all.

Once the credits started rolling and Stiles managed to collect himself and stop looking for monsters under his bed, he went back to reading. All night. Until the sun came up.

And he never hated himself more.

He was on his third cup of coffee of the morning by the time his classes were finally over for the day. He ended up getting an earful from the professor – a gangly, bald guy with rounded glasses perched on his witchlike nose – about missing classes and how it’d affect his final grade. He was too tired to care. He stumbled home to his dorm and immediately passed out.

A loud buzzing interrupted his almost peaceful slumber, only to find that it was Scott finally calling him back.

“Huh?” Stiles managed.

“Who’s got the great phone etiquette now?”

“Not cool.” Stiles cleared his throat and sat up in bed, rubbing at his eye with the palm of his hand. “You never called after work.”

“I told you to call _me._ ”

“Oh. Right. Oops?”

“What’s the big emergency?” Scott asked, sounding like he was typing away at his laptop. Probably at home for the day, working on some training manual for the other betas. A Werewolf Bible, if you will. “What’s so important you couldn’t wait until I finished work?”

“Oh, nothing really, just what could possibly be the biggest government cover-up in _history._ ”

The typing stopped. “Okay, you’ve got my attention.”

Stiles grinned and moved to his desk to rake open his laptop with one hand. “You ever heard of a Wendigo?”

“What, like that thing from _Supernatural?_ ”

Not a promising response so far. “Yeah, like that, but real.”

“No. I can ask Deaton, though.” Scott said. “Why?”

“Because I’m pretty sure there’s one in Beacon Hills.”

And that’s how it started. Stiles told Scott everything he knew from top to bottom. Everything about the mutilated bodies, the random organs missing, the weird cult-like symbols written on their bodies – everything screamed cannibalism.

“So, you went from cannibals straight to Wendigo?”

“No, Scott. What do you take me for?” Stiles scoffed back, flipping through some of his messy notes. “I did my research. A Wendigo only kills when it needs to, right? When it’s hungry. Which, I mean according to popular lore, is only about once every six months. And the murders all match that time frame, going back tons of years.”

“When was the last murder?”

“Six months ago.”

“You’re telling me it’s about to happen again?” Scott sounded worried now.

“Probably. But if it does, my theory is right.”

“I’ll tell the others to stay alert. I’ll let you know if I hear anything.”

And again, the line went dead. Stiles was beginning to wonder if Scott knew how to have an actual phone conversation consisting of hellos and goodbyes. Maybe he was taking a page out of Derek’s book.

Or not, considering he’d spoken more to Derek than he had Scott in the last year. Which was weird as hell but not as weird as Wendigo’s being real and about to rampage a town. Chewing on his thumbnail, Stiles debated whether to text Derek for an update or not, but the ex-Alpha apparently read his mind because his phone pinged shortly after.

**Derek:** _Have you considered a Wendigo?_

Stiles beamed silently at his phone. Nice, so someone else could back up his story if shit hit the fan.

**Stiles:** _yeah, that was my first thought. i’ve already told scott, he’s going to keep an eye on it_

**Derek:** _Wendigos kill every six or seven months. And it’s rare for them to be alone. Tell him to be careful._

**Stiles:** _already did_

Which was a lie, but it went unspoken. Scott could look after himself way better than Stiles could. He was just a walking, talking bean-bag chair at this point. Flimsy and uncomfortable, and also slightly annoying. A lot annoying. Or something like that, he was too tired to think of a better metaphor for himself right now.

**Derek:** _If you do turn out to be right about this, Scott is going to ask you to go back._

**Stiles:** _no way. he’s got a team of betas over there copying his every move, he’ll be fine_

**Derek:** _A pack of beta’s who can’t think for themselves is not something anyone should be proud about. I’m just telling you what will happen._

**Stiles:** _he’s not going to ask me back_

“Dude, you have to come back.”

“Seriously?” Stiles barked through the phone, having been woken up at god knows what hour by a very bewildered Scott and Malia on the other end, ordering him to get his ass out of bed and on a flight ASAP. And _hell_ no, he wasn’t going to go without a fight. “There’s no way I’m coming back, Scott. I have a life out here.”

“You were right. About everything.” Scott said, and Stiles could hear Malia talking in the background. “Yeah, I’m telling him about the Wendigo.”

“Wendigo?” Stiles was suddenly wide awake and shoving his feet into his shoes. “There was another murder?”

“Yeah, a few hours ago. Just like you said it would happen, Stiles.” Scott said. “Malia went down to check it out. It smelled wrong, like something had been there but she didn’t recognise the scent.”

“Holy shit.”

“I know.” Scott agreed, then after a lot of shuffling and grunting like the two were wrestling over the phone, Malia’s voice came over the line. “Get your ass back to Beacon Hills, Stilinski!”

And well, he wasn’t about to argue with that. Malia was scary when she wanted to be.

So he hopped on the next flight out of Washington and gritted his teeth. He did send a quick text to Derek telling him what happened, and how he knew what he was getting himself into. Derek hadn’t responded right away like he usually did, and Stiles was left staring at his phone thinking he might have to catch a flight somewhere else after all this just to make sure the ex-Alpha wasn’t dead in a ditch somewhere.

Then his phoned buzzed and a half-normality was reinstated.

**Derek:** _Be careful. Keep me updated._

And, well, sure. Why not.

Being back in Beacon Hills sounded like a bad idea at first, but when Stiles first stepped foot on familiar soil and _literally_ stepped in dog shit, he realised what a _horrible_ idea it was. Scott picked him up from the airport – after a long speech about how Stiles needed to take his shoes off before getting in the car so it didn’t stink to high heavens to Scott’s poor werewolf nose – and drove him back to his dad’s house.

His dad was pleased to see him, at least. Stiles could see the newly forming wrinkles around his eyes when he smiled and greeted him, probably from the past war between them and other supernatural things. Sometimes Stiles wished he could have kept his dad out of all of it somewhere in the dark, knowing enough but not too much so he wouldn’t get hurt. But fate had other plans, apparently, and now the Sheriff was a lot rougher around the edges than he had been before.

It made Stiles feel a lot older to be back in his old room. The walls were scattered with old posters and peeling wallpaper, a stench of teenage boy still heavy in the air. He shuddered at the thought and sank down onto his old lumpy mattress, wishing the day away.

He was woken up by a sharp knock at his bedroom door in the morning. His dad knocked three times before entering, and suddenly Stiles felt like a teenager again and like he was late for school or something. He rubbed at his eyes and yawned dramatically, prompting his dad to huff out a laugh.

“Rise and shine, kiddo.” He said, then raised his hands at Stiles’ pointed scowl. “Okay, not a kid anymore. Right. Sometimes I forget.”

“No, it’s fine. I know I’m still the embodiment of a deranged youth to you.”

“For sure.” His dad agreed easily. Stiles threw a sock at him promptly after, making the Sheriff laugh and retreat out the door. “You have a visitor, by the way. Scott’s in the kitchen. I told him to wait down there like an adult.”

“Bet he hated that.” Stiles joked, already knowing Scott would be busting at the seams to trot up there and tell Stiles everything he knew from the night prior. Scott and Malia had been on some kind of stakeout – strictly no humans allowed – as they tried to pinpoint the last known whereabouts of the Wendigo. A feat Stiles could have totally helped with but ended up deciding against it, because they’d had it covered. At least he hoped they did.

He shook the thought off and put a pair of slippers on, and almost stumbled down the stairs. He had to hold onto the railing to steady himself, wishing he’d had a coffee already. Coffee was a reason for breathing at this point in his life. A classic student.

“Stiles! Finally!” Scott bellowed from the kitchen as soon as Stiles hopped off the bottom step in the hall. “What time do you call this, huh?”

“I’m a struggling student. Leave me alone.” Stiles grumbled, taking the cup of coffee his dad handed him with a tearful look. He couldn’t have picked a more understanding dad. “Don’t talk to me until I drink this.”

“Are you serious right now? You’ve been gone for a year, this is the first time I’m seeing you, and you wanna drink your coffee?”

“That’s the plan.” Stiles said. “And you saw me yesterday.”

“I’ll leave you kids to it.” His dad announced as he grabbed his keys by the front door. Stiles whined in response. “Okay, sorry. I’ll leave you _men_ to it.”

“Better!” Stiles yelled after his dad as he left for work. Still working at the police station. He never changed. Scott, however, had a very serious look on his face that Stiles couldn’t help but laugh at. “Okay, okay. Tell me before you start chasing your own tail or something.”

“It’s not funny, Stiles.” Scott said gloomily. “Everything’s been all tense since you left. I feel like I haven’t seen you in—”

“A year?” Stiles quipped, taking a sip from his mug which was graciously decorated with dried up pieces of macaroni. An art piece from his time in middle school that his father had kept all these years. “Because it _has_ been a year. I’m just a phone call away, you know. Or a text. You remember how to text, right?”

“Yes?”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

“We are so not getting into this right now, Stiles.” Scott snapped, slamming his fist on the table like a maniac. Stiles looked down as the table legs screamed their protest. Scott’s temper was still there, that was for sure.

“I’m just messing. So, tell me what you want to tell me.”

“The crime scene was a mess.” Scott said quickly, like he’d been itching to let it all out. “Body parts everywhere, and so much blood. There were a lot of internal organs missing. Lungs, heart, stomach… but not the liver.”

“Liver tastes like ass, anyway.” Stiles responded, putting his cherished mug down on the table once he was sure Scott wouldn’t have another violent outburst. “Do you think it means something?”

“I wanted to ask _you_ that. I asked Deaton but he doesn’t know anything about it. He’s never heard of a Wendigo before.” Scott chattered, probably saying more now than he had in the past year. His voice was starting to get raw. “Did you see anything in your research that would make it more concrete?”

“You mean like, prove Wendigo’s don’t eat liver?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“No.” Stiles hesitated, then wiggled as he tried to get his phone out of his pocket. “But I know who we can ask.”

“What? Who?”

“Derek.” Stiles said, and Scott went silent for a long, drawn out moment. It was all very dramatic. “I’ve been talking to him since I left.”

“About what?” Scott asked, putting on his best _I’m totally not jealous_ face.

“Lots of things. Mostly supernatural things. Or whatever comes to mind.” Stiles told him slowly, not really wanting to get into an argument over it right now. “It’s nice to check in from time to time, you know?”

“I’m sorry I haven’t… I mean, I’ve just been busy with—” Scott stammered. “—the pack and stuff. It’s been a tough year.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Stiles told him honestly, a small smile on his face as he flicked through his contacts to get to Derek. “You’re here now.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

Stiles texted Derek and asked him to tell him whatever he knew about Wendigo eating habits. And bowel movements. Anything that would be helpful at this point. He wasn’t entirely surprised by the response he got.

**Derek:** _Are you asking me this because you’ve done something in the bathroom that you shouldn’t have? Or are you really asking me about Wendigo bowel movements?_

“Did he really just make a joke?” Scott asked absently. Stiles shrugged and said, “It’s been known to happen.”

**Stiles:** _i’m asking for all the information you have on wendigos. good bad and ugly_

**Derek:** _It’s all ugly._

**Stiles:** _glad we can agree on 1 thing_

**Derek:** _I don’t know anything about the liver specifically. I don’t think it’s subjective, every creature is different. Just ask Scott about fruit roll ups._

“Fruit roll ups?” Stiles asked out loud, looking over at his friend who was apparently turning a dark shade of red. “What the hell?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Scott clutched his stomach and gagged like he was reliving a memory that Stiles really, really didn’t want to know about.

**Stiles:** _you’re telling me YOU like fruit roll ups and scott doesn’t???_

**Derek:** _No. All I know about the Wendigo is that it can’t be stopped once it’s started. It will kill again._

“Great.” Stiles announced flatly. Scott grabbed the phone from him and started reading the correspondence. Stiles went back to his coffee and started sipping it as he contemplated the possibilities.

Maybe there was something wrong with the liver? Maybe the meat was tainted or something, and the Wendigo knew it. Or maybe it just… didn’t like liver. The possibilities were endless. Stiles wasn’t a big fan of liver himself, as his past outburst had clarified. He wasn’t really a big fan of meat in general anymore. A lot of blood in his past like had made him weary of seeing it on the dinner table.

“Dude. How much do you text him?”

“What?” Stiles asked, snapping out of his train of thought.

“Derek. There’s thousands of messages here.” Scott sounded suspicious, and he eyed Stiles carefully. There was a total hint of jealousy there too, like Stiles had somehow betrayed him.

“I don’t know, some. Not a lot.”

Scott scoffed and tossed the phone back to Stiles who caught it with one hand. Scott looked at him in surprise, like he’d expected Stiles to drop it. Ha, jokes on you, Scotty.

“FBI training.” Stiles announced, downing the rest of his coffee and getting up from the table. “Enhanced reflexes, blah blah blah. I’m a menace.”

And just to prove his point, he proceeded to trip over his own feet on the way to the sink and collapse against it with a disappointed groan. This house was definitely tainted or something, because that wouldn’t have happened back in Washington. He really didn’t feel like re-embracing his teenage clumsiness right now, but it seemed to be happening whether he liked it or not. This town really was a curse.

“I can see that.” Scott remarked from where he sat. “What should we do?”

“Let me get dressed.”

A lot had changed in the town since Stiles had left. A few new stores had popped up here and there, but a lot more had closed down. The beloved book store that Stiles had frequented as a teenager was gone, all boarded up and looking miserable by the side of the road. He was probably their prime customer, so he only had himself to blame for their downfall. Scott didn’t seem to be too torn up about it, too focused on the task at hand since he’d never left Beacon Hills to begin with.

It was nearing late afternoon before they actually made any headway. Malia joined them sometime after midday and hopped in the back seat behind Scott so she could poke her head through the middle of them to interject her opinion whenever necessary. Stiles didn’t think it was ever necessary. Malia was full of adrenaline pretty much 24/7 and it was _exhausting._

“You reek.” Malia said. And Stiles felt like reaching back and smacking her.

“Of what?” He shot back instead, whipping his head around to peer at her. “Awesomeness?”

“No. Just different.”

“I reek of different?”

“I get what she’s trying to say.” Scott said, hands firm on the steering wheel as they pulled up to the gas station. Abandoned gas station, at that. Was everything in this town just going to shit? “You just smell different than you used to.”

“I’d hope so.”

And really, he did. He probably wasn’t in the best shape the last time he was there, all gangly limbs and sarcasm. Okay, so he was still both of those things but he’d grown up a lot in the past year. The independence had given him an edge and he had to fend for himself without having Scott to fall back on. Not that Scott was ever really present to cushion his fall, but that was another story. Scott had changed a lot too – his hair was shorter and he looked harder at things than he did before, like he was really paying attention. Stiles had trouble reminding himself that Scott was indeed an Alpha. Not Derek.

Derek just held himself that way all the time, apparently. He had the authority of an Alpha but none of the bite. It irked Stiles a bit, since all he really knew was how to treat Derek as an Alpha. Certainly not Scott, his ex-crippling asthmatic and awkward best friend from high school, now a burly dude with a hard jawline. It just wasn’t fair in any sense of the word.

“So, are we going inside or are we just going to sit here and stare at it?” Stiles asked when no one made a move to exit the car. Scott was sniffing the air wildly like he’d let one go and wanted everyone to know it. Malia was mimicking him but in a less comical way. “What? What is it?”

“It’s here.” Scott announced. “I can smell it again. That same weird smell from the crime scene.”

“You really think it’d just hide out in a gas station like this?” Malia asked from where she’d positioned herself between the two front seats, crouched uncomfortably. Scott glanced over at her and nodded. The nose never lies. “What the hell?”

“Well, let’s go for it.” Stiles said, because sacrificing his own limbs seemed to be something he was good at in the past. “Two werewolves against one little Wendigo? No contest.”

“We don’t know how big it is, we’ve never seen it before.”

“I can call Derek to come and help.”

“We don’t need Derek’s help.” Scott snapped. Malia shot Stiles a look, and okay, geez, tough crowd in here. They got out of the car in unison, with Scott helping Malia hop out from the front. They exchanged a caring glance, and somehow Stiles translated it as _I love your stupid guts so don’t die, k?._ He wanted to text Lydia all of a sudden, but it wouldn’t help. He hadn’t been planning to stay for very long and figured it’d just hurt their relationship even more if he appeared for a week and then took off again.

Relationships were harder work than Stiles first thought.

The gas station was weirdly eery inside once Scott managed to claw one of the metal planks off one of the windows and herd them inside. He stuck close to Stiles to protect him from whatever they were up against, practically plastered to his side the entire way. They advanced into the station slowly, following Malia’s lead from up front where she was trying to follow the Wendigo’s scent. Stiles thought it was all too easy. What were the chances the Wendigo would just happen to be in the first place they tracked its scent to?

Far too easy. And Stiles and Scott both knew when things were too easy, there was obviously worse things to come. So maybe that was why his friend wouldn’t leave his side for a second.

Malia halted in front of a large metal door – crusted with rot and mould and _what the hell is that? –_ and instructed them to stay low. Stiles did as he was told easily, but Scott pushed his way forward to Malia’s side and glued himself to the wall on the other side of the door. Malia made a face at him. And, really? _So_ not the time for a lover’s quarrel, guys.

“It’s in here.” Malia whispered to Stiles, who didn’t really know how to react to that other than giving her a weak thumbs up. Like he wanted to be Wendigo dinner tonight, no thanks. “We’ll open the door in three."

“Okay.” Scott whispered back. “You good?”

“Yeah.” Malia confirmed, then returned her attention to the door. “Okay, one, two, three!”

The door swung open with an absolutely disgusting metallic groan, so bad that Stiles had to cover his ears and duck behind one of the wolves. Malia pushed inside first, but it didn’t last long because she was instantly thrown back out again. She flew past a bewildered Scott and Stiles, who were none the wiser, and crashed into a pile of dirty and unused car parts with an even louder crash that echoed throughout the station. There was a tense few seconds where no one moved, until it became apparent that Malia had been knocked unconscious.

Huh. Just like always, something kicked their ass. It was like riding a bike.

Scott started snarling and pushed Stiles back before swivelling around the open doorway and going inside. Stiles, despite his better judgement, had no choice but to follow in after him to satisfy his own curiosity.

The scene before him was definitely not what he had expected. He’d thought maybe there’d be pitchforks and some sort of pagan ritual strewn across the walls in big red letters, body parts laying around and the like. It certainly wasn’t that. It was dark and there were cobwebs growing from the ceiling to the walls, so many that Stiles could barely see Scott ahead of him. But then his eyes scanned the area and zoned in on a pair of dark, glowing orbs in the corner. It was relatively low down so he assumed the creature couldn’t be that big, but certainly strong enough to chuck a werewolf.

Not good.

Scott spied it instantly, baring his teeth and charging forward into the darkness. The Wendigo rose to its feet, its weird glowing eyes rising easily in the darkness until it towered over both of them and almost hit the ceiling. Scott started to skid on the musty ground as he tried to stop himself advancing any further after seeing what he was up against.

“Scott, look out!” Stiles couldn’t stop himself from yelling after his friend, already foreseeing the sequence of events that was about to take place. Most of them included Scott being torn apart by whatever this thing was, thrown against the walls and left in a beaten and bloody heap on the floor for someone to mop up later.

Except no one was coming to mop it up. This place was abandoned, and they were alone. With no back up. God, they were _idiots._

The creature – the _freaking Wendigo –_ emerged from the darkness and slithered closer to Scott. It was _huge._ And it’s skin was scaly and weird like a lizard, and it’s hands weren’t really hands at all, they were _claws_. It had a face and a nose but it was distorted, like there was still an ounce of the person it used to be hiding there behind the mask of _ugly_.

“Run!” Scott yelled and Stiles thought he was a genius. They didn’t get very far before the beast grabbed them both by the back of their collars and threw them to the ground right back where they’d started. Stiles landed on the ground with a pained groan and an almost definitely dislocated shoulder. Scott fared better, because werewolves, and was back up on his feet in a hot second whilst Stiles squirmed around on the ground clutching his shoulder. He didn’t even bother trying to get away, he knew they were doomed already. What was the point letting this stupid, ugly thing enjoy the thrill of a chase?

Malia roared, like music to Stiles’ ears, which obviously spooked the Wendigo because it shrieked in what Stiles could only translate as concern. In a flash, it was gone, clawing a large hole in the ceiling and climbing out and scurrying away. The sound of its claws and tattered flesh made a really unpleasant noise above them until it eventually faded into nothing and the room filled with stunned silence.

“Stiles.” Scott shook Stiles’ shoulder, prompting him to cry out in pain. “What’s wrong?”

“My shoulder’s dislocated, probably. The one you’re currently _shaking!_ ”

Scott withdrew his hand instantly like he’d been burned. He looked over to Malia who honestly looked like she’d seen better days. Her hair looked like a beehive with wires tangled in it, and her head was bleeding. She was panting in anger and looking up at the ceiling, probably cursing the night sky. Stiles understood the appeal.

“So,” Stiles barked up at Scott, “still think calling Derek’s the worst thing in the world?”

Scott wrinkled his nose and tried to help him to his feet.

“I’m not calling him. _You_ call him.”

“I’m injured!”

“You have another arm.”

“In case you didn’t notice, I’m tied to a table!” Stiles snapped, laying back down on the table that Deaton had basically restrained him on. His arms were buckled to the table, just like his legs were, and Deaton had popped his shoulder back in like it was nothing. Stiles wasn’t even aware he could make the sounds he did at the shock of it. But once the pain wore off to a nagging ache, he found his voice again and ordered Scott to call Derek.

“It was for your own good.” Deaton pointed out, but Stiles just shot him a look. Deaton rolled his eyes and unbuckled Stiles’ hands so he could sit up. “Calling Derek might be wise, considering the three of you seem to have angered whatever this thing is.”

“It’s a Wendigo.” Malia commented absently from where she stood with her arms crossed at the other end of the room. She’d been in a real mood on the way there, cursing the fact that she’d been knocked out and missed the action. Except there wasn’t any action whatsoever considering both Scott and Stiles were knocked on their asses shortly after she was.

“Did you confirm that with him?” Deaton asked. The guy hadn’t really aged at all in a year, and looked like he always did. But he was wearing glasses and looked like he was ready to retire from all the werewolf drama. No wonder.

“Yeah, he says it’s a Wendigo.” Stiles informed him, looking back at Scott and raising his eyebrows. Scott threw his hands up in the air and huffed. Wordlessly, he took his phone out of his front pocket and dialled Derek’s number. The ex-Alpha picked up on the first few rings.

“Yeah, we’re fine.” Scott spoke into the phone. “We saw it and it’s huge, it’s bigger than I thought it’d be… No. No…. I don’t know.”

Stiles started sighing and tried to unbuckle his ankles from the table. Deaton stepped in to help, undoing them both easily to save Stiles the trouble.

“Again, I said I don’t know, I—” Scott started grimacing, then rolled his eyes and handed the phone over to Stiles. “He wants to talk to you.”

“Why?” Stiles eyes nearly popped out of his head.

“I don’t _know._ ” Scott snapped back, and okay, yikes. Stiles grabbed the phone from Scott’s outstretched hand and held it up to his ear, ready to form a quick hello but apparently Derek wasn’t one for phone etiquette either.

“What happened?”

“Nice to hear your voice, too. It’s only been, what, a year?” Stiles barked back, and listened to Derek sigh on the other side.

“Stiles.”

“Okay, so dumb and dumber over here tracked the Wendigo’s scent to an abandoned gas station just outside of town.” Stiles explained, talking with his hands even though Derek couldn’t see him. “Malia got knocked out and my shoulder was dislocated. So you can imagine how it went.”

“Did you have Deaton put it back in?”

“Yeah, and he was really rough and— _hey!”_ Stiles exclaimed when Deaton smacked him on the ankle. “Worst werewolf veterinarian ever.”

“How big is it?”

“It’s huge. It towered over both of us. It’s like the freaking Eiffel tower of Wendigo’s.”

“That’s not good.” Derek paused on the other side of the line. “And you sure you only saw one?”

“Yep, it was on its own.” Stiles glanced over at Malia. “Thankfully.”

“Put Deaton on the phone.” Derek ordered, and Stiles did as he was told and handed it over. Deaton took it gingerly, like he was suspicious of the technology. He disappeared from the room and into his office, decidedly talking in there instead of in the ear-range of two werewolves and Stiles.

“What did he say?” Scott asked, obviously bothered by the fact that his own word wasn’t good enough.

“He said it’s not good.” Stiles told him, rolling his shoulder with a grimace. “I dunno. I didn’t expect it to look like that. It looks nothing like what it does in the lore, at least, not identical.”

“Those things are never accurate anyway.” Malia interjected. “Most of the time they’re all made up stories to scare the kids at night.”

“Consider me officially crapping my pants.” Stiles said flatly. Scott shook his head.

“We’re not kids anymore. We’re stronger than that. We should’ve seen this coming.”

“Are you actually admitting that your plan wasn’t the greatest thing ever?” Stiles feigned his shock, putting a hand over his chest. “Because, _duh._ You had no idea what you were up against.”

“Neither did you.”

“I’m _human!_ What do I know?”

“More than you think.” Deaton said, re-announcing himself to the room and handing Scott his phone back. “Derek’s coming back.”

“When?” Scott barked like it was the worst thing he’d ever heard. Stiles shot him a look.

“Tomorrow evening.”

“I thought he was in South America?” Scott asked suspiciously, sliding his phone back into his pocked. Deaton shrugged.

“I’m guessing he was closer than that.” Deaton said, then eyed Scott like the beta had something to hide. “Where are the rest of your pack?”

“It’s a school night.” Stiles said absently, gaining a look from Scott.

“Painfully, he’s right.” Malia admitted, uncrossing her arms and making her way over to the table where Stiles was still perched. “They won’t know how to deal with any of this if we don’t. We can’t involve them until we know how to fight this thing.”

“I can’t just turn away my pack because something came up.” Scott protested. “Especially if Derek is coming back to town. They’ll all want to talk to him.”

“And what’s wrong with that?” Deaton asked.

“Nothing.” Scott dismissed him with a sigh. “I’d better get Stiles home before the Sheriff starts calling.”

“That’s the best idea you’ve had all day.” Stiles beamed, hopping off the table.

“Shut up.” Scott snapped back. Tough crowd.

Stiles’ dad fussed over him as soon as he walked in the door, shoving him towards his bedroom and bringing him his dinner up there. Perks of being an only child? Being absolutely spoiled then he’s sick. Or injured. Whatever. His dad looked less than pleased when he was told what had happened, but he was more angry at Scott than anyone else, given the fact that the beta hadn’t protected Stiles like he had sworn to.

“Dad, it’s not like he could really _do_ anything.” Stiles defended Scott automatically, even though his poor planning skills was what got Stiles into this situation in the first place. “He was attacked too. We were both thrown on the ground. I’m just more…”

“Human?” His dad prompted, placing a plateful of curly fries in his lap.

“Breakable.” Stiles decided as soon as he laid eyes on the food in front of him. “You know, I could have made something. I’m not a kid anymore.”

“Under my roof, you’re still my kid. And I can treat you how I want.”

“Can’t argue with that.” Stiles said, shoving a fry in his mouth with a pleased whine. His dad ended up smiling and leaving him to it, but he could still hear the angry phone call between him and Scott from downstairs. Stiles figured he’d just let his dad tear Scott a new one, and that’d save him from doing it the next day. Parents were good at that – scolding.

Among other things.

After he ate, he decided to go downstairs once the yelling stopped. He barely managed to wash his plate with one hand and ended up getting his sling all wet. Deaton had instructed him to wear it for a week – something Stiles figured wouldn’t be happening, since he’d probably just end up getting dirt or entrails splattered on it eventually. It had been known to happen. He couldn’t count how many shirts and jeans he’d had to throw out in the past after they’d tackled something to the ground and ripped its throat out, effectively covering Stiles in blood.

 _That_ had been a toughie to explain to his dad before everything went down and his father was whisked into Stiles’ world along with him.

After a while, his dad hadn’t seemed to mind. Like he was just thankful for Stiles having stopped lying to him, and that broke Stiles’ heart into pieces.

“You know I just lied to protect you, right?” Stiles offered once his dad had offered to dry him off and adjusted his sling back onto his shoulder. “And I’d do it again. You’re the only family I have left.”

“We have family in Arkansas.” His dad grumbled, then took a step back to admire his handiwork. “And you didn’t just lie to protect me. You lied to protect the others, too.”

“Well, yeah, I guess.” Stiles tried to roll his shoulder but was greeted with a shooting pain up his arm and across his upper back. He groaned and put his free hand over his face. “Why can’t I just have a normal life?”

“Have you met yourself, kid?” His dad said with a laugh. “You’d drive yourself crazy if you did. And besides, you act like you were born to be involved in all this. I’m guessing you get that from your mom.”

“You’re telling me mom liked to run with the wolves, so to speak?”

“No.” His dad rolled his eyes and ushered Stiles over to the sofa, lowering him down on it like he was a nurse. Stiles was thankful, though, since _someone_ was actually taking care of him. “Your mom would be proud of you, son.”

“Sometimes I’m not too sure.” Stiles admitted as his dad took his designated spot in the chair across from him. His chair. Some things never changed. “She definitely wouldn’t be happy at me dragging you into all of this.”

“I’m happy you did, because your lies had become ridiculous.”

“ _Hey,_ there’s only so much I can come up with when I kept coming home with bruises and covered in blood and…” Stiles grimaced. “…other stuff. Besides, it’s a little awesome.”

“Define ‘awesome’.”

“I mean, the werewolf thing.” Stiles waved his hand as his dad popped open a can of beer. “My friends are all werewolves. I mean, most of them. It’s kinda awesome, right?”

“Awesome that they keep putting you in danger?” His dad’s gaze hardened. “Scott swore to me that he’d keep you safe.”

“I’m not dead yet.”

“Yet.” His dad agreed, then sighed and took a sip of his beer. “Did you really call Derek Hale?”

Stiles sighed. “Scott did. But I may have been the main influencer in the matter.” He hesitated, looking around the room at the familiar and slightly embarrassing décor. “I’ve kind of kept in touch with him since I left, you know?”

“You’ve kept in touch with Derek.” His dad said but it sounded more like a question. Stiles looked over at him with his best _what?_ face. “Nothing. I just didn’t think, out of all the people, you’d keep in touch with him. Last time I checked, you hated him.”

“I never hated him.” Stiles said in an instant, then starting backpedalling under his dad’s scrutinizing gaze. “He just didn’t like _me._ Eventually we started tolerating each other, you know? Like we were two people that fate had just thrown together, and neither of us were going anywhere, so, like…we just grew up and faced the music. Live together, die alone. All that.”

“You lived with him?” His dad had apparently only been listening to the absolute _wrong_ part of Stiles’ babbling.

“What? _No._ It’s just a quirky thing I heard at school.” Stiles corrected. “Okay, at school when I was playing video games. _In my spare time._ It’s something we say at the beginning of a battle so we all work together, or something, and like…” He started trailing off when his dad’s face began looking more and more confused. “Live together or die alone. Like, if you work together you’ll survive together. But decide to go alone and you die…alone. Yeah.”

“Right. I’m not going to pretend to understand any of that.”

“Probably for the best.”

“You better get some rest, kiddo.” His dad announced, apparently decided that it was Stiles’ – who was a grown ass man – bed time. “Go to sleep. It’ll do your shoulder a world of good.”

“Do I need to remind you how old I am?” Stiles protested.

“Do I need to remind you that I’m your father?” His dad countered, and well, couldn’t argue with that. “Or that you’re under my roof? When I say go to bed, it means go to bed.”

Stiles didn’t want to argue. He just rolled his eyes and made a passing comment about how his dad shouldn’t be drinking this late, then disappeared upstairs. If his dad wanted to act like Mr I’m Your Father And You’ll Do What I Say, then Stiles would totally be Mr I’m Your Son And You’re Not Allowed To Eat/Drink Things Bad For Your Cholesterol. It wasn’t exactly a great battle, and he was sure he’d lose, but he’d at least die trying.

A metaphor for Stiles’ life, really.

And while he did go to bed, he didn’t sleep. He stayed on his laptop for a few hours and researched everything he could – anything that might help Scott and Malia on their travels. And he also caught up on some lectures he’d missed, having made an agreement with his main professor about a _family emergency_ he’d had to miss school time for. They’d agreed to give Stiles two weeks sabbatical on the terms that he’d continue working from home on whatever the new assignment was. He’d just have to catch up on field work when he got back.

But hunting a Wendigo was totally field work, and probably more effective than anything he could get from the FBI. It involved real danger, real life-threatening danger, that forced him to think on his feet. Or his ass. Whatever he landed on, really.

He really hoped he’d hit the ground running but he wasn’t about to hold his breath.

His phone beeped after an hour or so, scaring him senseless from where he was reading an article about cannibalism. He scanned his room for werewolf intruders – or Wendigo intruders – but thankfully he was alone.

**Scott:** _Did you find anything useful?_

Stiles cursed at his friend, cursing at whoever made the decision to make him the nerdy sidekick and Scott he muscle of the operation. He was always doomed to live in someone’s shadow.

**Stiles:** _not much. wendigo’s apparently hunt in pairs or groups but this one seemed to be on its own. weird, right? so i looked it up and google says if a wendigo is on its own its easier to kill. yay_

Scott apparently picked up on his intended sarcasm.

**Scott:** _Yay. I couldn’t really pick up more than one scent so I’m guessing it’s on its own_

**Stiles:** _that really doesn’t comfort me, scotty_

**Scott:** _Did you talk to Derek?_

Stiles halted his thumbs on the screen in surprise. Given the way Scott reacted whenever Stiles talked about Derek and getting his help, he was bewildered that Scott had even _asked._

**Stiles:** _not since yesterday. why???_

**Scott:** _Just curious_

What a _liar._

Stiles rolled his eyes and tucked his phone away on his desk and returned to his laptop. Then, after a while, it was like his phone was _staring_ at him and _burning_ him. Stupid Scott and his stupid mind games. Stiles resisted for a while, before eventually giving up and closing his laptop and rubbing at his eyes. He flopped over on the bed and sat up, letting his legs dangle off the side as he grabbed his phone from his desk and opened it. There was a text from Derek, shockingly enough, because Stiles hadn’t even heard it go off.

**Derek:** _Did Deaton put a sling on your arm?_

Stiles raised an eyebrow at that. What did he care, anyway? Sure, Deaton had given him a sling and it was becoming to be the _worst_ thing ever. He unconsciously wiggled his shoulder and squinted at the pain.

**Stiles:** _yep. best thing ever_

**Derek:** _It’ll help._

**Stiles:** _so he says. can’t exactly trust a word he says_

**Derek:** _After everything, you still don’t trust him?_

Stiles faltered at that. Sure, Deaton knew what he was talking about but he always said it in a weird way, like he was holding something back. And yeah, he had some weird _magical_ powers hidden deep somewhere underneath his scrutinising mug, but he’d only ever used it to protect the pack. Back when they _were_ a pack, at least. Since Stiles left for school and Derek took off with Braeden, they weren’t exactly close at all anymore. But time went on and things couldn’t stay the same forever. The pack had evolved into something else now and Stiles wasn’t really sure where his place was in it.

**Stiles:** _you do?_

**Derek:** _Not for a second._

Stiles had the urge to text back _then why the hell are you asking me?_ before his phone pinged again.

**Derek:** _I’ll be in Beacon Hills by tomorrow night._

**Stiles:** _hope you’re not texting whilst driving!!!_

**Derek:** _I stopped for gas, idiot. Tell Scott to stay put until I get there._

Yeah, like that’d be happening. Stiles had tried it before, but Scott always got his way in the end sooner or later. Whether it was diving head first into an all-out werewolf attack, or simply forcing Stiles to skip a biology class so he could sit in on training, Scott always got his way. Always.

Stiles was woken up the next day by none other than his best friend, shaking him awake by his good shoulder with grimace. Stiles had startled and yelped loudly, making Scott laugh at him. Oh, ha ha. Very funny, scaring the human. Stupid werewolves. He silently cursed his dad for letting Scott in in the first place.

The Sheriff had taken a couple of days off since Stiles’ dramatic shoulder dislocation – something that was unnecessary but welcomed. And Stiles could get used to being waited on hand and foot for a few days, chowing down on home cooked meals instead of instant noodles like he’d been surviving on at the academy.

Scott looked like he hadn’t slept a wink and was wearing an old tattered t-shirt. Stiles grumbled at him as he got out of bed and basically collapsed into the shower. Scott tapped his fingers impatiently his desk whilst he tried to get dressed. Because, privacy? Obviously not in a werewolf’s vocabulary. Also, personal space? Never heard of it.

“You smell weird.” Scott huffed from somewhere behind Stiles’ left shoulder, prompting him to spin around and almost collide with his friend who was freaking _right up in his space._

“Dude!” Stiles swatted at him and tried to wrestle his shirt over his head. “What did we talk about? A personal bubble of two metres at all times.”

“Sorry.” Scott said. “I’m just used to spending most of my time with Malia.”

“Go figure.” Stiles tried to push away the mental image of Scott being plastered to Malia’s side they way Stiles used to be. It made him feel uneasy now, and he couldn’t really believe he used to date the werewolf in question. What a weird time it was for everyone. “What’s with the sniffing me, also?”

“You smell weird.”

“Yeah, _explain?_ Not a mind reader.” Stiles snapped back. “Or a nose-reader, at least.”

“I don’t know. You smell like cobwebs.” Scott pointed out, making Stiles pull his shirt back off roughly and sniff at himself. “Like you got Wendigo-goop on you.”

“Aw, man.” Stiles groaned out loud and put his shirt back on for the second time. “Really?”

“It’s not that bad. But it’s noticeable.”

“Could be something to do with, I dunno, getting my shoulder dislocated?”

“How is it, anyway?” Scott narrowed his eyes. “You took your sling off.”

“Well, _duh._ I felt trapped in that thing.” Stiles scowled over at the sling, now tossed over his desk chair like an old and unwanted rag. “And seriously? I’m fine. See,” he rolled his shoulder for emphasis, but of course, the universe was against him because he tensed in pain and whined, “totally fine.”

“Totally.” Scott agreed sarcastically, moving to take the sling off of the chair and put it back on Stiles. “Hold still.”

Stiles protested but eventually Scott used his freakishly strong arms to hold him down and get the sling back over his shoulder. His wrist dangled loosely out of it, like a forgotten limb, and he sighed. Why was this his life?

Once he was somewhat presentable, having not even addressed the dripping mess that was his hair, Scott dragged him downstairs and out the front door. Stiles whined and cursed a lot, protesting the entire way to Scott’s car until he finally gave up and got inside. It smelled like ass, or more specifically, like dog shit. Huh. Taking his shoes off the other night must have not worked out so well.

“You’re buying me an air freshener.” Scott announced once he’d got in the driver’s side and buckled his seat belt. Stiles sighed as he buckled his own.

“That’s why you dragged me out of my bed at the crack of dawn?”

“It’s eleven am.”

“Crack. Of. _Dawn._ ” Stiles insisted, slouching in his seat and fiddling with his sling. “Seriously, what gives?”

“We’re meeting with the pack.” Scott said as he started the car and took off down the street. “They’ve all been asking about you.”

“What do you mean? You’ve got them all herded somewhere?”

“You make us sound like sheep or something. We’re not sheep, we’re werewolves, Stiles.”

“No _way._ Really?” Stiles gasped. “When were you going to tell me this?”

Scott just rolled his eyes. “I rented a loft downtown. That’s where we have our meetings and training sessions. Some of them go there to study sometimes, when I’m not around.”

“Why don’t you just move there?” Stiles asked. “It’s not like you wanna live with your mom forever.” Scott shot him a look and Stiles cleared his throat. “I mean, she’s cool and all but, dude, seriously. You need some independence.”

“I have independence.” Scott put his foot down on the gas more. “I have a job and a car, and I have responsibilities to my pack. I’m not about to leave my mom alone to pay the bills. It won’t work.”

And, oh. Okay. So they were still having money troubles after everything, that much was sure. Money had just become some kind of weird concept to Stiles since everything had happened. Sure, money was great but it wasn’t a necessity. Having his life threatened left and right really changed his perspective on what was most important in life. Living.

“Malia is meeting us there.” Scott continued, like their spat didn’t matter. “So, be good. Keep the sarcasm to a minimum.”

“You say that like I can control it.”

“Take an Adderall and keep your mouth shut, then.” Scott ordered, but he was grinning. Ha, so funny. He did as instructed anyway, because what the hell.

The drive was pretty smooth as far as things go. Scott’s loft paled in comparison to Derek’s old one, but it was still something. A safe haven for werewolves. At least, as safe as it could get. The main room was large and spacious, save for a few sofas scattered across the room like Scott had no idea how to decorate. Liam was sitting on one of them with his legs crossed and a book in his hands when they entered.

“Stiles?” Liam blinked from where he sat and closed his book. “You actually came back.”

“Not voluntarily.” Stiles admitted as they made their way inside. The rule was apparently to remove all shoes before they got any further. Stiles rolled his eyes and toed his boots off, tucking them away against the wall.

“I convinced him to come back and help us.” Scott offered.

“Forced.” Stiles corrected.

“Okay, there might have been some coaxing.” Scott admitted as Liam rose to his feet and held his hand out to Stiles. Stiles looked at him like he was a maniac, like this sort of gesture wasn’t something normal between them. Because it wasn’t. Stiles was used to Liam being somewhat of a loose end, always having to scramble after him and clean up his messes. Which was a lot. A _lot._ In the past, anyway.

“Leaving me hanging?” Liam asked, lowering his hand. “Fine. Nice to see you too, Stilinski.”

“I’m just surprised you even have manners.” Stiles offered, holding his hand out for Liam to take. “Last time I saw you, you were a nightmare.”

“Last time I saw _you,_ you were a nightmare.” Liam shook his hand anyway. “Welcome back.”

“I’m not staying.” Stiles reminded them, mostly to Scott who looked away sheepishly. “I’m leaving once this is over.”

“I thought you were leaving in two weeks? At the end of your sabbatical?” Scott asked.

“Whichever comes first.” Stiles shrugged, and then looked around the loft. “Love what you’ve done with the place. Seriously, you need a decorator.”

“I’ve told him.” Liam said.

“It was just supposed to be temporary.” Scott admitted, looking around at the almost bare room. “Guess we’ve been here longer than I’d originally intended.”

“Try a _lot_ longer.” Liam rolled his eyes before sitting back down and returning to the book he’d been reading. Stiles spied the cover.

“Julius Caesar?” Stiles exclaimed. “Seriously? Beacon Hills high school really needs to change their curriculum.”

“It’s not for school. I just like reading it.”

“Don’t tell me you can _read._ ”

“Stiles.” Scott barked. “What did we talk about?”

“Fine.” Stiles crossed his arms over his chest – well, as much as he _could_ considering his sling was strangling him – and sighed. “So, what am I really doing here, Scott?”

“So we could see you.”

Stiles spun around comically, scanning for where the voice had come from. He peered over at the corner to see the wall fizzle before him, revealing a really smug looking Corey. Weird chameleons.

“Not cool.” Scott commented. Yeah, no kidding.

“You’ve been hiding this entire time?” Stiles asked in disbelief and turned to Liam. “And you knew?”

“Obviously.” Liam didn’t even look up from his book to answer, like he’d been expecting Stiles to get spooked anyway. McCall Pack: A Bunch Of Assholes.

“Now that we know you’re actually here, and Scott isn’t just playing a practical joke…” Corey continued, making his way towards Stiles. “We’ve officially worried.”

“You should be.” Stiles said absently, rubbing at his sling self-consciously. He was surrounded by a bunch of werewolves – or, _half_ werewolves, in some cases – and he was feeling out of place like he didn’t belong. He couldn’t heal as fast as the others because he was human, something that kept coming up again and again. Damn this humanity.

“Why don’t you just ask for the bite?” Liam asked from where he sat, eyeing Stiles’ sling and obviously using his werewolf senses _inappropriately_ to access Stiles’ mental well-being. “Scott would give it to you.”

“No, thank you.” Stiles said quickly. “Been there, done that. Already said no.”

“More than once.” Scott added. And exactly. Peter Hale had offered him the bite first but it hadn’t been for Stiles’ sake, it’d been for his own personal gain. To fight Derek. Or something like that – whatever Peter was up to was never any good to anyone but himself. “This isn’t the point.”

“You’ve encountered a Wendigo before.” Corey offered and crossed his arms. “What makes this one so special?”

“Uh, because it’s _huge?_ And it’s nothing like what we’ve seen before.” Stiles waved his arms in the air like it were obvious. “This thing crawled straight outta the set of _Supernatural._ ”

“That thing with the two brothers?” Liam asked. Stiles nodded. “I heard that show was terribly inaccurate.”

“Again, not the point.” Scott said. “It’s nothing like before. It doesn’t even look human, or at least it didn’t attempt to hide itself from us.”

“Maybe you just caught it at a bad time.” Corey offered.

“I don’t think so. This was…different. Malia and I didn’t recognise the scent.” Scott sighed and looked toward the door as if he wished Malia would come in and save him from this conversation. “And it’s following the rituals Stiles researched – it only kills every six months and isn’t choosy about who it kills. It kills to feed and nothing more.”

“Seems like it’s keeping the natural order of things.” Liam snorted. “Survival of the fittest.”

“Dude.” Stiles snapped. Because, totally not cool.

Liam rolled his eyes. “I’m just saying, maybe it’s not so bad if it’s picking off people at the bottom of the food chain.”

“See, _that_ ,” Stiles pointed at Liam with a scowl, “is why I don’t like you.”

“I’m not too crazy about you either.”

“Sure, so we’ll just let it rampage the town every six months, no problem. Then it’ll take someone you care about – or, I don’t know – maybe it’ll take your Xbox, just for kicks. _Then_ how would you feel?” Liam actually looked pale for a second. Stiles gaped at him.

“If he spent as much time killing zombies on that thing as he does helping us, we’d be a lot better for it.” Corey said and rolled his eyes. “Scott, you were saying?”

“We – well, we—” Scott stumbled over himself for a minute, unsure, then was startled by the sound of the door opening and Malia making her way inside. He huffed a sigh of relief. Stiles did too – because Scott’s babbling? Kind of annoying.

“Look who decided to show their face finally. Get lost on the way back from the werewolf manicure store?” Stiles asked, then clamped his mouth shut when Malia offered him a snarl. “Geez, lighten up.”

“I was thrown into a pile of _god knows what_ last night, Stiles.” Malia reminded him as she made her way into the room, wearing a stripy sweatshirt that really didn’t give off the same hard-ass thing she had going on with her face. “Have it happen to you, and then tell me to lighten up.”

“Uh, my shoulder was dislocated.”

“So you keep reminding us. Your humanity is annoying.”

“Oh, excuse _me_ then. I’ll just get the hell out of your hair then.” Stiles huffed dramatically and made a mad dash towards the door. He didn’t get far – he never does when he’s surrounded by werewolves – until someone was grabbing the back of his shirt and yanking him backwards. To his surprise, and absolute betrayal, it was Scott clinging to his clothes. “Dude, let me go. I don’t want to be here anymore.”

“You don’t have a choice, you’re part of my pack.” Scott said firmly, but ended up letting go of his hold on Stiles’ shirt anyway. “You have to attend pack meetings.”

“I don’t remember reading that in the brochure.” Stiles snapped back as he attempted to straighten the mess of his shirt. So much for ironing, then. And his dad had worked so hard on it.

“Must have been in the small print.” Malia offered. “Nobody ever reads the terms and conditions.”

“Maybe they should.” Stiles said weakly.

“You definitely should have.”

“Where’s Theodora?” Corey asked Malia, and, ha! Cute nickname, mental note taken for later. “Stuck in detention again?”

“I don’t know.” Scott said expectedly, like he’d have any idea what the hell his pack were up to when he wasn’t around. A True Alpha? More like a True Terrible Babysitter. “We can just catch him up later. You can catch up with Mason, too.”

Corey nodded firmly. And so Stiles was compelled to spill his guts – uh, metaphorically, thankfully.

He laid it out all nice and straightforward so everyone could understand. One, there was a Wendigo on the loose – _no,_ not like the one we encountered before, Corey, _again_ – and it was killing people every six to seven months like clockwork for the past four years. Two, it looked like a freaking huge lizard-man with claws and a face like his old algebra teacher – _no,_ not really, Malia, _god_ – and it was weirdly strong but apparently scared of werewolves howling. And three, and finally, it was running crazy with no intention of stopping – he’d left out the part about Derek telling him that, just for the hell of it.

“There’s nothing in the research that tells us how to kill it?” Liam asked from the sofa, with Stiles perched on the floor next to him where he was sprawled out on top of a _lot_ of print outs with things highlighted here and there. “That’s lame.”

“Well…” Stiles looked up at Scott who looked like he wished he was someone else. Not a first time for that expression. “Could try shooting it with a flare gun to see what happens.”

“Now you’re just quoting _Supernatural._ ” Liam scuffed. Well, _duh._

“Derek is going to help.” Scott announced from where he stood, really emphasising each syllable like he was trying to force the words out of his mouth. Malia started rolling her eyes. “Stiles called him.”

“You called him?” Corey looked like he was about to wig out.

“Well, _technically_ , no I didn’t. Scott did.” Stiles offered and rested back on his ankles, taking the highlighter out of his mouth. Scott’s posture was screaming uncomfortable to Stiles felt compelled to elaborate. “But it was my idea. We’re close, you know? Derek and me,” it was easier than tell them the truth, because he didn’t even know what he and Derek were, “we’ve been talking since everything went down, so to speak. Texting, specifically.”

“He texts?” Malia asked absently.

“Obviously, it’s 2019, Mal.”

“You know what I meant.” Malia grunted. “And don’t call me Mal.”

“Whatever. The point is, _yes_ we text. No, that’s not even the point.” Stiles cleared his throat at the four pairs of werewolf eyes on him. “The point is, he’s coming back to town. Tonight. To, uh, help. With the Wendigo.”

“He knows how to kill it?” Liam asked, interested.

“I don’t know. I’ll find out later tonight, I guess.”

“He’s coming to your house?” Scott asked suddenly, and there was that _I’m totally not jealous_ face again. “Tonight?”

“What? No?” Stiles rose to his feet and shooed Liam further up the sofa so he could gather up his papers. “At least, I don’t think so. He never said anything like that to me.”

“He might turn up here.” Malia offered, looking to Scott. “He’ll probably follow your scent. You should stay here tonight.”

“I will.” Scott confirmed but he didn’t sound happy about it. He eyed Stiles carefully for a moment whilst he organised himself and handed the papers to Corey.

“Don’t lose these.” Stiles ordered as Corey took them from him. “Give them to Mason. He’s a lot more reliable than you.”

“I’m sure I can manage to keep your papers safe on my own, Stilinski.”

“Stiles.” Scott said sternly, making Stiles raise an eyebrow at him. “I’ll take you back home now. I’ll need to stop at my house for some stuff if I’m going to be staying here.” The Alpha turned to the others. “You two, go home. Stay there tonight.”

“Why?” Liam asked, raising to his feet. “Why can’t we be here when you confront Derek?”

“It’s not a confrontation.” Malia huffed.

“It’s not like that. I just don’t… I want to talk to him alone.” Scott said weirdly, perking Stiles’ interest. “I’ll relay whatever information he gives tomorrow.”

It wasn’t until they were on their way out that Stiles brought it up again, waiting until he was in the safety of Scott’s car before surrounding him. “What was that all about?”

“What?” Scott asked, like he had no idea what Stiles was talking about. Which was totally not going to fly.

“You made it sound like you wanted to _fight_ Derek.” Stiles said, eyeing his friend as they drove. “And last time I checked, he was part of your pack. You can’t attack your own beta.”

“He’s not been around for a while.” Scott said. “I just don’t want him to turn up and act like he’s running this operation.”

 _Operation._ Stiles gaped at Scott from where he sat.

“And I don’t need him undermining me in front of my own pack.” Scott continued. “He’s done it before, and I don’t want it to be a regular thing. I have to command my pack, and I have to be respected.”

“Dude, nobody’s disrespecting you.” Stiles told him. “And in case you haven’t noticed, you picked a pretty disrespectful bunch of people to be in your pack. I mean, I know you didn’t _pick_ some of them, but, come on. Liam? Really?”

“Liam is fine, he’s just…immature.” Well, that was the understatement of the year. “Just like we used to be. He’ll grow out of it eventually.”

“And you’re worried about him because…”

“He idolises Derek.” Scott said seriously, gritting his teeth. “Just like everyone else. Even you.”

“I’m not sure _idolise_ is the word I’d use to describe how I feel about Derek.”

“What word would you use?” Scott glanced over at him, making Stiles feel uneasy when he realised he didn’t have an answer to that. Fear? No, that wasn’t right. Were they even friendly? No, probably not that one either.

“There’s too many words in the dictionary for that. And not enough time.”

Scott didn’t say anything the rest of the journey. At least, until Stiles was about to get out of the car and his phoned buzzed. He undid his seatbelt and shimmied it out of his pocket.

**Derek:** _Are you home?_

Aww, crap.

Scott eyed the text with his super-duper-totally-unfair werewolf eyes and sighed. “Seriously.”

Stiles offered him a shrug and hopped out of the car after that, not wishing to continue any kind of argument they were having. Scott watched him enter the house before he drove away, and, thank god for small blessings because Stiles’ dad wasn’t home yet.

So he could have a small meltdown to himself.

**Stiles:** _just now, why?_

No response. Nothing for five minutes. Nothing for ten minutes. That’s when Stiles realised he’d just been standing in the hallway staring at his phone the entire time. Grumbling, he shoved it back into his pocket and went into the kitchen to shovel down a handful of Swedish Fish. And while his frustration was expected, it wasn’t totally necessary. Scott’s pestering was exactly necessary either, come to think of it. Derek was part of the pack, that much was sure. And the pack was never divided.

At least, not in any major way. Stiles high tailing it off to college might have caused some distance-related issues, sure, and the same could be said for Derek and Braeden. Not that Braeden was part of the pack – because she wasn’t – but it was all the same. There was some tension between Stiles and the others due to his leaving but he knew he was still part of the pack at the end of the day and when it mattered – case in point, when a Wendigo ran rabid.

So, he pushed down his reservations and retreated upstairs to his bedroom where he remained until the moon came out. Not full, thank god, because that was a freaking headache that Stiles _so_ wasn’t ready for dealing with right now.

It wasn’t until he’d settled for burying his head deep in academy paperwork on his laptop that he’d realised how late it had gotten. He checked his phone for messages relating to his impending doom, but there was nothing, and his phone was still sitting on Derek’s messages. Stiles had been left on read for hours and he wasn’t about to pertain as to why. The whole thing was just _weird._ Why had Scott assumed Derek would go to Stiles’ _house?_

When his bedroom window suddenly slid open, Stiles thought, maybe such an assumption wasn’t so far from the truth. He still panicked all the same, swivelling out of his desk chair and grabbing the nearest thing in the room that he could use as a weapon. You know, just in case.

He was met with the trademark Hale Eyebrow Raise when Derek climbed into his room looking like he wasn’t even going to fit. He’d gotten bigger – seriously, how was that even _possible?_ – looking like he was about to bust out of his jacket.

“Why are you holding a pencil case like you’re going to hit me with it?”

Stiles dropped the pencil case onto the desk and mentally slapped himself. Great weapon choice, brain. Just great. Derek sounded like he always did, all stoic and no humour, but there was actually a smirk on his face like the situation amused him greatly. Derek Hale: Dick.

“My room has a noticeable lack of deadly weapons.” Stiles explained, forcing his shoulders to untense. He leaned forward and flicked on the lamp on his desk to illuminate the room. Derek’s eyes flashed a quick blue. “And I hadn’t expected to defend myself so soon after coming back. Haven’t had a chance to go to the deadly weapons store yet.”

“You should always make time for that.” Derek said lazily, like he was bored of Stiles already. He peered around the room and huffed out a breath. “Do you never clean up in here?”

“Hey, I just moved back two days ago. It’s not like I had time to hire a maid.”

“Maybe you should consider it.”

“Derek,” Stiles ran a hand over his face and sat back down onto his chair with a resigned sigh, “why are you here?”

Derek took a seat on the edge of Stiles’ bed like it was the most regular thing in the world, like he totally hadn’t slammed Stiles up against all the four walls around them before. “To help kill the Wendigo?”

“No,” Stiles huffed, “I meant, why are you _here?_ ”

“I told you I was coming.” …and, that seemed like the only answer he was going to get.

“Not a mind reader.” Stiles tapped his forehead for emphasis. “Also, not psychic. You asked if I was home.”

“That was me telling you I was on my way.”

“Right.” Stiles rolled his eyes, watching as Derek leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees.

“Tell me what happened.” He instructed, narrowing his eyes. “Everything.”

So Stiles did. He told Derek about Scott’s not-so spectacular plan to track down the Wendigo to an abandoned – and seriously creepy – gas station on the edge of town. He told Derek how Malia had gotten knocked on her ass faster than lightning, and how both Stiles and Scott landed on _their_ asses the second the Wendigo knew they were there.

“And that’s how this,” Stiles wiggled his sling as much as he could without it hurting, “happened. Not my finest moment. Not Scott’s either, really. Or Malia’s. It was just a real fine evening, to sum it all up.”

“Scott’s an idiot.” Derek announced. Stiles shot him a look like _hey, that’s my Alpha, buddy._ “You could’ve been killed.”

“I wasn’t. As you can see I’m very much alive.”

“Barely.” Derek’s face turned into a grimace. “Scott’s planning skills need work.”

“And _yours_ don’t?” Stiles laughed. “You remember your five minutes as an Alpha, Derek? Because I do. And let me tell you, your plans sucked _ass._ ”

“I don’t remember you complaining when I _saved_ your ass more times than you can count.” Derek snapped. And, well, he was right…kind of. “Being an Alpha is a big responsibility.”

“Scott can handle it.”

“Most of the time he can. But others…” Derek’s eyes travelled to Stiles’ sling, standing out with its ridiculous blue stripes, “he can’t.”

“I’m fine.” Stiles insisted, feeling self-conscious under Derek’s scrutinising look. “Seriously. It could have been worse, hell, it _has_ been worse. This is nothing.”

Derek was quiet for a long moment, looking at Stiles’ sling intently like it would answer all of the questions he had. Stiles cleared his throat awkwardly at the intensity of it all and searched through his mental rolodex of things he could say to lighten the mood a little. In the end, “Where’s Braeden?” was all the could come up with.

“Not here.” Derek said, as informative as always. “I came alone.”

“Trouble in werewolf and mercenary paradise?” Stiles joked, looking at Derek and…oh, okay. He’d obviously hit the nail right on the head with that one – completely unintentionally. “Oh. Sorry.”

“There’s no trouble.” Derek dismissed him. “Do you know how to kill it?”

Thank god for the change in subject, because Stiles was a terrible matchmaker. And he was also a terrible shoulder to cry on when…no, not even going there, because this was _Derek._ No way in hell he’d need a shoulder to cry on. “Well, not much to go on. I was kinda hoping you knew how to kill it.”

“Fire would be the most effective.” Derek said, breaking his gaze away from Stiles and looking out the window up at the moon through the curtains. “Trying to capture it first will be the hardest part. Especially if you already infiltrated its nest. It’ll be looking for somewhere else to hibernate.”

“Hibernate?” Stiles echoed. “Like a wild animal?”

“It doesn’t need to eat as often as humans do.” Derek told him. “That’s why it only kills when it has to. And it might not even kill its victims every time – it’ll take them back to its nest and save them for later. You should be looking at missing persons reports, too.”

“I…totally didn’t consider that to be a possibility. How did I miss that?”

“You’ve never encountered something like this before.”

“Kind of. Not really.” Stiles admitted. “It was different before.”

“I know.” Derek looked over at Stiles where he sat, leaning his chin on his hands. If Stiles’ dad were to walk in right now, oh man, what would it even look like? “Do you have access to FBI files?”

“Some. Not all.” Stiles offered, turning in his chair to wake up his laptop. “They only let students into specific databases. The ones related to whatever classes they’re taking during the year.”

“Do you like it?”

Stiles’ fingers paused over the keyboard in surprise that Derek had actually asked him that. “Yeah, it’s…different.”

“Different?” Derek prompted.

“It’s a lot less life threatening compared to my time at high school, and that’s really saying something.” Stiles explained quietly. “Why are you asking? It’s not like you’ve asked me anything about school the entire time we were texting.”

“You didn’t ask me about anything I was doing.” Derek countered, and, okay, fine, _point._ “And I’m asking now.”

“I’m surprised you even texted back in the first place.” Stiles looked back at the werewolf on his bed. “Why did you?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“You don’t seem like the texting type.”

“What _do_ I seem like?”

“Like the kind of guy who never checks his phone.” Stiles huffed and turn his attention back to the screen, skimming through missing persons reports in the area. “Like the kind of guy who’d never talk to me unless he had to.”

“You don’t know anything about me.” Derek sighed.

“I’ve known you since I was sixteen.” Stiles snapped back. “I know enough.”

“Stiles…” Derek started, then paused like he was concentrating. Stiles look over at him curiously. Then he heard a car approaching from outside. “Your dad is home.”

“You’d better go.” Stiles rose to his feet and gestured to the window. “The last thing I need is explaining why you’re in my room as late as this.”

Derek raised an eyebrow as he pushed himself from the bed and made his way to the window. He slid it open with ease and started to climb out, but paused and turned his head towards Stiles. “Next time, I’ll state clearly that I’m coming over.”

And then he was gone. And Stiles was left standing like an idiot next to his open window with this mouth open.

“Next time?”

_tbc_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eep. Hope this is okay! I expect it to only be a few chapters long but with a very high word count as far as things go. I know there's currently a Wendigo in the TW universe, but I thought it'd be fun to through in one from a different kind of lore.
> 
> As I said at the beginning, I barely remember anything post-3b for obvious reasons so if there are some things or some characters that really don't make sense in the timeline, forgive me! ♥ Also Kate Austen is a character from Lost I'm implementing in there just for kicks, and it's also where I nabbed the phrase "Live together, die alone", in case anyone remembers that show.
> 
> Also English isn't my first language so if there are any mistakes I'll try get to them as soon as possible. ♥


	2. Première Rencontre

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Chapter Title Translation:** Première Rencontre - First Meeting (lit.)

It became painfully clear to Stiles that the past year had been tough on his best friend. For more than one reason – but mainly because Stiles had left for educational purposes (and totally just not for a taste of freedom from Beacon Hills). However, the most notable thing was Scott’s patience, or distinct lack-of. That much had become excruciatingly clear over the past few days ever since Derek decided to hop in his werewolf-mobile and high tail it back to Beacon Hills for the third time in his life – pausing to stop at Stiles’ _house,_ he’d add.

Derek had gone to Scott’s loft just like Malia had assumed. _After_ he’d seen Stiles. And obviously, completely unknown to Stiles at that point, he’d carried Stiles’ scent with him. Which was weird since he’d they’d only been together for a grand total of ten minutes before Derek had hopped back out the window when Stiles’ dad pulled into the driveway. His dad hadn’t sensed anything was wrong – which it wasn’t – when he came into the house, and simply sat and ate dinner with his son without so much as a word about it.

Scott, however…was a different story.

“It’s weird.”

“Define ‘weird’”.

“You and Derek.” Scott barked up from where he was perched exactly where Derek had been sitting the night before – on the end of Stiles’ bed. “I mean, why would he even come here first? It’s not like you’re even close or anything.”

“I don’t know.” Stiles told him honestly, but still managed to start squirming around in his desk chair uncomfortably at the growing situation. “He just wanted information, that’s all. Which I gave him. And then he left,” Stiles nodded towards the window, “out there as soon as my dad came home.”

“Why didn’t he want to see your dad?” Scott raised an eyebrow.

“Gee, I don’t know. Maybe because it was _nearly midnight_? Or maybe because he’s a _werewolf_?” Stiles snapped back, trying to focus his attention on the missing person reports still open on his laptop from the night prior. “And maybe he didn’t want my dad asking questions.”

“You’re really going to keep your dad out of this?” Scott asked, which was a fair question. Stiles had considered letting his father in on everything he knew, but he still had this deep need to protect him from the life he’d been thrown into. “We could use his help. He’s got connections at the station, and it could be useful. And besides, he already knows about the werewolf thing.”

“He knows about a lot of things. _Too_ many things.” Stiles said with a sigh. “If I could just keep him out of it, that’d be great. He’s been through enough.”

“We all have.”

“You’re kind of just adding to my point there, Scott.”

Scott started to shake his head before laying back on Stiles’ bed and putting his arms above his head. “This is stupid.”

“Yeah, I know.” Stiles offered, printing off some missing persons posters that he’d found interesting. He’d taken Derek’s advice and searched through everything in the Beacon Hills area (or, at least, as much as he could find with his FBI-in-training permit). “Take a look at these and tell me if you remember seeing any of them around town in the past year.”

Scott didn’t even sit up, so Stiles was forced to thrust the papers at his friend. They drifted like feathers around Scott, who managed to grab one mid-air and hold it to his face. “Wait. I’ve seen her before.”

“Who?”

“This girl.” Scott sat up straight and turned the paper around so Stiles could see what the hell he was talking about. “She brought her dog in a couple of weeks ago, it’d been attacked by another animal somewhere. She was crying a lot. That’s why I remember.”

Stiles took the paper from Scott’s hand and swivelled around in his chair like he was on a mission. He searched the girl into google – Kate Austen, with a cute face but a look in her eye like she’d seen some shit – and scanned the results. “When did you see her?”

“I can’t remember. It was a while back, and it was late. We were just about to close up for the day.” Scott sighed, then pulled his phone out of his jeans and started dialling. “Deaton might know.”

“Says here she was last seen at a grocery store…” Stiles hesitated. “…a couple of minutes away from the abandoned gas station. ”

“That’s really not good.” Scott said, then cleared his throat. “Deaton, it’s me. I need to ask you something.”

“Ask him about the gas station!” Stiles hissed in the background, dropping everything and scrambling closer to Scott, dragging the chair along the ground until he was within eavesdropping range.

“Sssh.” Scott shushed at Stiles, annoyed, then cleared his throat again. “That’s just Stiles, he’s been helping. Listen, I need to you to tell me if you remember that girl who brought her dog in a couple of weeks ago. The one that’d been in a fight…yeah, her. Do you remember what she looked like?”

There was a pregnant pause and Stiles gnawed on his thumbnail anxiously whilst Scott nodded at whatever Deaton was telling him.

“Yeah, right. It’s her.” Scott confirmed to Stiles. Well, shit. “Austen? No, I’ve never heard of the name before, is she new in town? …Well, I just figured that was the kind of stuff you just _knew…_ no, I know you’re not a mind reader.”

“Try creepy stalker.” Stiles offered.

“He told you to be quiet.” Scott shot Stiles a look, who rolled his eyes. “Listen, we think she might be involved in all of this. We think it’s entirely possible she’s been captured by the Wendigo… I don’t know, it was Stiles who suggested it and—”

“Give me the damn phone.” Stiles ordered, snatching it out of Scott’s grasp and shaking his head. “Deaton, hey, yeah it’s me. Listen. I talked to Derek and he said a Wendigo will go into hibernation every time it kills. He said something about it taking a little midnight snack or something to keep it company in case it gets hungry later. So, like. You can understand our concerns.”

“Certainly. But what makes you think it’s this girl specifically?” Deaton asked.

“Call it a sixth sense.” Stiles told him, nudging Scott like he was a genius and needed to be acknowledged. “It fits. She disappeared three weeks ago, I’m guessing just a day or two after her little puppy was attacked?”

“It was a German shepherd, Stiles.”

“Not the point. I’m right, aren’t I?”

“As much as I hate to admit it, you might be.” Deaton said back to him, then there was some shuffling on the other line like the guy had been rustling through paperwork. “The timeline definitely aligns with your theory. Did Derek say how long a Wendigo might keep its prey once captured?”

“I’ll ask him.” Stiles promised, making Scott grimace. “But I can’t imagine it being long. I mean, I can barely handle the temptation of an open pack of Oreos in the vicinity, imagine what it’d be like for a freaking _Wendigo._ ”

“I don’t think Wendigo’s eat Oreos.” Scott offered. Stiles smacked the back of his friend’s head.

“Let’s hope you’re wrong, for the girl’s sake.” Deaton said, then hung up. Stiles stared down at the phone in disbelief. Okay, well, that conversation was over. With a lot more questions thrown up in the air than answers, as usual. Stiles groaned into his hands and threw the phone back at Scott who caught it easily. Stupid werewolves.

“You should talk to her parents, see if they know anything.” Scott said.

“Uh. Why _me?_ I totally don’t think that’s necessary.” Stiles protested. “And besides, they’re probably worried enough without me going in there and spewing my knowledge about cannibalistic lizard people.”

“I don’t know, I thought it seemed like the best option.” Scott explained, making Stiles narrow his eyes. “I’ll ask Derek to stake out the house, then. Save you the trouble.”

“Oh, so I’m not good enough to go to the stake out?”

“That’s not what I said. You just made it sound like you didn’t want involved.”

“Scott, how long have you known me?” Stiles gaped, waving his arms in the air to emphasise the _billions of years_ they’d known each other. “When have I ever wanted to be _not involved?”_

Scott shrugged. “Ask Derek if you can tag along, then.”

“You’d be cool with that?” Stiles asked before he could think the better of it. Scott shot him a look. “I mean, you saw him, right? What’d he say?”

“What’d he say about what?” Scott asked suspiciously.

“About the weather, about your haircut, all that new stuff.” Stiles rolled his eyes. “About the _Wendigo,_ you stupid idiot.”

“Nothing new. He said he wanted to keep an eye on it before making the next move.” Scott said. “And he said it was stupid of us to raid its nest blindly.”

“He isn’t wrong.”

“No, he isn’t, I know, but it seemed like the best option at the time since we didn’t know what we were up against.” Scott shook his head. “Anyway, he’s staying at the loft until it’s all over. And when he says staying, I guess that means he’ll be around when I need him to be and drop off the face of the earth when I don’t.”

“He didn’t stay last night?” Stiles asked curiously.

“No, I figured he came back here.” Scott scanned his friend’s face, which was becoming more and more confused. “But I guess he didn’t since you look like you’re about to crap your pants.”

“Tell me why – _exactly –_ you thought he would come back here?”

“Malia thought so.” Scott said, and Stiles began to seriously reconsider his life decisions. “And after she said that I couldn’t get it out of my head. I don’t know. I don’t like it, man.”

“There’s literally nothing to dislike!” Stiles exclaimed, rising to his feet and spinning around in a circle. “I don’t remember you and Derek being at odds before.”

“We weren’t – aren’t. It’s just…the distance and lack of communication has taken its toll on the trust between us.” Scott stared down at the floor between his knees. “I don’t want him to challenge me as an Alpha.”

Wow, overreaction much? “Scott, he isn’t going to hurt you. He isn’t going to take the Alpha title from you. Plus,” Stiles waved a hand dismissively, “I get the impression he doesn’t even want it.”

“He told you that?”

“Well, no. Look, if it’ll make you feel better I’ll talk to him, okay?”

“And tell him what?” Scott stood up. “That I’m worried about my status in the pack?”

“ _No.”_ Stiles made his best _are you stupid?_ face. “I just mean, I’ll talk to him. I’ll try to find out what his deal is.”

“Yeah, do that.” Scott sounded annoyed, huffing out a long and exaggerated breath in Stiles’ general direction. “See what he says.”

“I will.”

“Great.”

“Awesome.”

“ _Fine._ ”

“Scott, seriously?” Stiles groaned. “I can’t have this battle of wits if you’re unarmed.”

“It’s just… I have a lot going on right now.” Scott made his way to the door and hesitated, glancing back to Stiles. “Corey and Mason are chasing leads right now. I’ll let you know if they find anything. In the meantime,” he paused dramatically, talking in his trademark I’m The Alpha voice, “don’t do anything stupid”

“That’s a given.” Stiles dismissed him easily, hopping back down onto his desk chair once Scott left. The wolf stomped downstairs and out the front door without another word, probably running into the cool evening air and taking to the hills. Letting off steam, he’d said one time, but Stiles knew it was just an excuse to get out of situations he really didn’t want to be in.

After everything, Scott still had a lot to learn about being an Alpha. A True Alpha, at that – a fact he continued to remind Stiles every single time his decisions were brought into question. Like being a True Alpha meant he couldn’t ever screw things up – already disproven – or make any mistakes – also already disproven, numerous times.

Stiles sighed heavily and quickly snapped a photo of the missing persons poster on his phone. Kate Austen, 23 years old, last seen three weeks ago in the parking lot of Jessop’s Groceries – a short walk from the old Wendigo nest. Brown hair and brown eyes, 140 pounds, 5’8”. Plain, pretty, normal. Not exactly a prize catch, Stiles thought, but then he figured if there was meat on her bones then the Wendigo wouldn’t mind.

He sent the picture to Derek with an explanation and sat his phone down, waiting on the imminent response.

 **Derek:** _Did you confirm this with Deaton?_

Deaton might have been an emissary at some point or another, but his word wasn’t gospel. And Derek had never trusted him for a second, and after the whole _thing_ between Deaton and Talia Hale – a whole big history there that Stiles wasn’t too sure about the details of – Derek pretty much ignored most of Deaton’s advice. But, the past was the past, right? The only way was forward, theoretically.

 **Stiles:** _yeah. he agreed with me_. _looking highly likely she’s been captured_

 **Derek:** _And you think her dog was attacked by the Wendigo?_

**Stiles:** _maybe. maybe it was trying to break down her defences or smthn before it took her. people are weaker when they’re unstable, i should know_

So it was a bit of a personal text message this time, but Stiles wasn’t worried. He’d been taken advantage of by the Nigitsune in the past and it’d used his mother’s condition to play with him. It broke him down piece by piece until he didn’t know who he was anymore, and then it took him. He couldn’t let that happen to Kate Austen.

But Stiles _did_ get worried when Derek hadn’t texted back after five minutes. Maybe he’d shared too much and Derek’s void-of-most-emotion brain exploded whilst trying to formulate an answer. Not good. Then, on cue, his phone vibrated and sent him flying out of his chair in surprise. His foot tangled in his charger cable and he went tumbling to the floor with a pained – and somewhat embarrassed, despite being alone – groan.

**Derek:** _Outside._

Stoic as always. And also cryptic. And kind of stalker-ish, but hey, that was Derek Hale in a nutshell. Stiles rose to his feet and untangled his legs from his stupid charger and peered out the window, but Derek wasn’t there. Confused, he looked down at his phone and read the text message again.

“Stiles!” His dad called from downstairs, sounding disgruntled. “Derek Hale is here!”

Aww, crap.

It wasn’t until Stiles descended the stairs that he spotted Derek standing in the hall talking to his dad. _Weird._ But not as weird as the _grin_ on his dad’s face like he was actually pleased to see him.

“Uh.” Stiles said stupidly.

“Why didn’t you tell me Derek was back in town?” His dad asked, looking at Stiles where he’d frozen mid-step in the middle of the stairs. “Are you going to come down here or are you staying there?”

Derek laughed.

Asshole.

“I arrived a few hours ago.” Derek said, and wow, _liar._ And he did it so well. Stiles narrowed his eyes because whilst the lying was expected, lying to his dad was another story. And totally unforgivable. “I’m only in town for a few weeks before I’ve got to get back.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way.” His dad started, spiking a panic in Stiles’ chest and forcing him to descend the stairs and stand awkwardly at the side of them. “But whenever you’re here, it’s not for a social call. Care to tell me what’s going on?”

Derek nodded solemnly. “Can we sit?”

Oh, _shit_. No. No way. Stiles waved his hand in between them. “Uh, actually dad, could you give us a minute?”

His dad eyed him strangely before rolling his eyes and disappearing into the kitchen, insisting that he’d make some coffee. Stiles spun around to face Derek and raise his eyebrows. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“I was having a conversation before you interrupted it.”

“ _Interrupted?_ I—god.” Stiles ran a hand over his face at Derek’s straightforwardness. “This is _so_ not happening right now.”

“You haven’t told him.” Derek said quietly, but it didn’t sound like a question, and he glanced behind Stiles towards the kitchen. “And you’re not going to.”

“Exactly. If we could keep him out of it—”

“It’s a bad idea.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I wasn’t aware you had anything _but_ bad ideas.”

Derek glared at him silently and his nostrils flared like he was about to beat Stiles senseless. Or like he was threatening that he _would_ if it hadn’t been for his dad pottering about innocently in the kitchen behind them.

“Look, it’s my choice, okay? Mine. He’s my dad.” Stiles said firmly, but ended up rubbing at the back of his neck anyway like he wasn’t too sure of himself. “And since when did you start using the door like a human being?”

“I might be a werewolf, but I still have manners.” Derek grunted back, and just as Stiles was about to prepare his witty retort of snorting, Derek shushed him. “If I’d known you preferred me to use your bedroom window, I would have.”

 _Seriously._ “Seriously?”

Insert trademark Derek Hale Eyebrow Raise here.

“I wouldn’t—I mean—this is so not the point here.” Stiles felt himself looking at Derek’s eyebrows anyway, just for the hell of it. “Stop insulting me with your eyebrows.”

Derek smirked. “I’m not.”

“You totally are, and don’t think I don’t notice it. What was your big plan, anyway? Tell my dad and, what?”

“I told you, he has access to criminal databases at the police station.”

“You didn’t tell me that!”

“Regardless, it’s something you need to reconsider. Especially if you’re right about Kate Austen.”

“Kate Austen?” His dad re-announced himself from the kitchen doorway with a wary look on his face. It was then – and only then – that Stiles realised just how close he and Derek were standing together. He stumbled backwards and bumped into the bannister with a grimace. “What do you know about Kate Austen?”

Derek looked at Stiles carefully. Stiles communicated his best _don’t_ face, and watched as Derek’s eye narrowed. “Sir, we need to talk.”

Seriously, _dick._

So, Derek managed to sit Stiles’ dad down at the kitchen table and told him everything. Why he was back, and why Stiles was _really_ back. Stiles sighed continually from where he sat next to Derek, resisting the urge to freaking kick him under the table. His dad’s eyes almost popped out of their sockets when the word _Wendigo_ was thrusted into the air. Stiles understood the feeling but really didn’t enjoy the obvious anxiety it caused his dad. See, _this_ was the exact reason he didn’t want—

“Why didn’t you say anything?” His dad barked over at him. Well, _yeah_. That was the point.

“He wanted to protect you.” Derek answered for him, like the asshole he was. Stiles looked over at his dad apologetically, but could already tell he was about to hear all about it.

“After everything? Kid, I’m the one who gets to protect _you.”_ His dad snapped. Stiles was starting to feel like a little kid with his hand caught in the cookie jar. Or in the Wendigo nest. “Not the other way around. I might be old, but I’m still your father. And we’re both human.”

“Look, I know. But can you blame me? I mean,” Stiles slapped Derek on the shoulder for emphasis, “do you _see_ what kind of company I keep?” And this time, it was actually Derek who kicked _him_ under the table. “Ow! See! Point made.”

“Sorry. Thought it was the table leg.” Derek said, and, _asshole._

“Oh, go pee on a fire hydrant.” Stiles snapped back, and his dad shot him a look. “I did it to protect you, yeah. Excuse me if I want to protect the only family I _have._ ”

“Kid.” His dad began with a sigh. “I have resources—”

“I do, too.” Stiles offered.

“That’s why I wanted to talk to you.” Derek interjected. “You’ll have more details about Kate Austen than the FBI will, since it’s a local case. You’ll have her address and details. We need them.”

“I’ll get them in the morning.” His dad confirmed as he looked down at his now empty coffee mug in thought. “So, this…thing—”

“Wendigo.” Stiles offered hesitantly.

“Wendigo. It’s definitely taken her?”

“If we assume the worst, yes.” Derek looked over at Stiles. “The date of her disappearance fits with the timeline. She was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“She might still be alive?”

“Emphasis on the _might._ ” Stiles glanced over at Derek who was still staring at him. “And if she is, we don’t know for how long. We don’t know how long it’ll take before it kills her too.”

“Which is why we need your help.” Derek finished, looking back at the Sheriff and leaning forward on his elbows. “Discreetly.”

“Goes without saying.” His dad confirmed with a shake of his head. “I’ll get everything you need tomorrow morning. But if you do turn out to be right about this, Stiles, no more running into its lair head first.”

“God, it’s not a _lair._ ” Stiles whined. “That implies it’s some kind of cool villain from—you know what, never mind. It’s more like a nest. All dark and cobwebs and stuff, not cool at all.”

“I don’t care what it’s called. I’m not going to let Scott drag you into it without being prepared.”

“That won’t happen.” Derek told him sincerely, like he was certain that Scott wouldn’t do it again. When in reality, that wasn’t exactly the case and he knew it. Stiles knew it. Everybody knew it. “I’ll protect him.”

“Thank you.” His dad said quietly.

“I don’t get any say in this?” Stiles crossed his arms and laid back in his chair with a scowl. “I don’t need a babysitter.”

“I’m not a babysitter.” Derek insisted with a glare. Stiles shot him a look.

“You’d suck at babysitting.”

“You suck at staying out of harm’s way.” Derek snapped back and woah, _dude._ Not cool.

“Enough.” His dad barked across at them, making both Derek and Stiles snap back to reality. “I already have one delinquent under my roof, I don’t need two.”

“ _Hey!_ ”

“I apologise.” Derek said, rising out of his chair and straightening. “I better get going. I’ll tell Scott what’s happened.”

His dad showed Derek out without another word to Stiles, who was still seething in the kitchen by the time the front door closed. He hadn’t wanted his dad involved, and he’d _told_ Derek that, and Derek had _big fat done it anyway._ Stiles was quickly losing his newly gained independence.

“I know why you did it.” His dad said from behind him. “I know why you didn’t tell me. But, kid, you don’t have to do that. I’m not going anywhere.”

“You don’t know that.” Stiles mumbled as he got out of his chair and tucked it back under the table. “Nobody knows what could happen. And I don’t want to lose you too.”

“You’re not going to lose me.” His dad said sincerely, pulling Stiles into a tight hug. Stiles relaxed into it and clung tight to his dad, sighing.

“Good, because I’ll just resurrect you again anyway. And that’d _suck._ ”

His dad laughed and pulled away, moving into the living room. “Do the dishes.”

“Aw, man.”

His dad proved true to his word and gave Stiles the files on Kate Austen during his lunch break the next day. Stiles had driven over there in his old jeep to pick them up and was greeted with a lot of his dad’s work pals who were all happy to see him. And he’d missed hanging out there, sure, since he’d spent a lot of time perched on the back of somebody’s chair and reading files he probably shouldn’t have when he was a teenager. He’d sit and wait for his dad to finish whatever paperwork he had left, pop his headphones in and just relax. The other cops would bring Stiles coffee or sometimes donuts for his troubles.

An easier time.

Now, it was a whole lot harder because he knew he wouldn’t be staying. He’d be going back to Washington eventually and probably wouldn’t be back for a long time. It kind of irked him a little, like the idea of never coming back was becoming a lot less pleasant than it had been in the past. Beacon Hills would always have this weird hold over him.

Once he’d had time to flick through the files in his car, he turned on the ignition and went to Scott’s loft with the new information. Derek’s Camaro was parked outside when he arrived, and _figures._ He couldn’t catch a break.

“Stiles, hey.” Scott greeted him inside, having heard him coming. “Did you get the files?”

“Hey, yeah, I did.” Stiles fished them out of his satchel with one hand and squirmed around in his sling trying to take his shoes off. Scott leant down and did it for him, because sometimes he was worthy of his best friend title. Stiles offered him a smile in thanks. “Since when did you become such a clean freak, anyway?”

“Since I adopted a pack of teenagers with no concept of personal hygiene.”

Fair.

Derek was sitting on one of the sofas at the far side of the room with his legs crossed and his ankle leaning on his knee. He had a book in his hand that Stiles couldn’t read the cover of, so he couldn’t exactly make a jab at his reading material taste. That’s when his eyes zoned in on Derek’s socks, having also been forced to remove his shoes upon arrival.

“Your socks have stripes.” He said stupidly once he’d approached Derek like it was the most logical thing to do. Derek spared him a silent glance before returning to his book. “Dude, your socks. They have _stripes_.”

“I’m aware.” Derek said sternly, looking up at Stiles like he thought he was a waste of space. It was a look that Stiles was unfortunately familiar with.

“I just didn’t think you were aware that there were colours other than black.” Stiles said as he sank down on the sofa next to Derek, enjoying the way his weight forced Derek to shift his position uncomfortably. “You know, since you only seem to wear black. That’s how this is funny.”

“Very.” Derek offered, tilting his body away from Stiles. Ah, well. Can’t please them all. “Black isn’t a colour. It’s a shade.”

“The fact you even _know_ that just proves my point.”

“When you’re finished critiquing Derek’s fashion sense, maybe we could focus on the Wendigo?” Malia interrupted them with a stern look on her face. “Or maybe it’ll just wait ‘til you’re finished.”

Derek smirked and folded the page he was reading before closing the book in his hands and looking over at Malia expectantly. Scott sighed from behind her, eyes trained on the papers in his hands.

“This is her last known address?” He asked, looking at Stiles. Stiles nodded. “Okay, let’s start there. Derek, stake it out and see what you can see.”

Derek apparently took direction well considering he was already on his feet and halfway to the door before Scott had even finished speaking. Scott didn’t seem too pleased about it, though, like he didn’t appreciate how the ex-Alpha could foresee what his orders would be. He sighed and looked back down at the papers. “Malia, take Corey with you and go back to the gas station. Check the roof and see if you can follow it’s trail.”

“We already did that.” Malia protested. “It went cold the second it hopped off the roof.”

“Do it again. You might have missed something.”

“I didn’t miss anything.” Malia said sternly, obviously offended, but after Scott shot her a look she rolled her eyes. “Fine. I’ll call Corey.”

“Mason and Liam are following a lead just outside of town.” Scott continued, prompting Stiles to raise an eyebrow up at him. “Another missing person, probably nothing. But gotta tick all the boxes.”

“Theo in detention again?” Derek asked from the doorway, leaning down to tie his boots. Scott sighed heavily and that in itself was enough of an answer.

“What about me?” Stiles asked as he rose back to his feet. “What am I doing?”

“You drew the short straw.” Malia studied him weirdly, like she was trying to figure something out and it made Stiles uncomfortable. “You’re going with Derek.”

Stiles looked at Scott to confirm, who wasn’t even looking at him. Scott was looking over at Derek who’d just shrugged into his jacket. There was obviously some kind of unspoken communication of _if he gets hurt, you’re dead_ or something, if Stiles’ mind-reading techniques were up to par. Scott kind of broadcasted using his body language anyway.

Derek nodded firmly. “I’ll wait in the car.”

“Stiles,” Scott began once Derek had disappeared downstairs, “I know it isn’t ideal, but you did ask for it.”

“I guess I did.” Stiles shrugged, because it didn’t really bother him anyway. He had spent enough time in a car with Derek, he could do it again. “I’ll talk to him.”

“Talk to him about what?” Malia prompted, making it clear she had no idea about Scott’s reservations – and Stiles was intent on keeping it that way.

“About the _Wendigo_. You know the thing we’re trying to kill?” Stiles huffed. “Keep up, Mal.”

“Don’t call me Mal.”

“Call Corey.” Scott ordered, and Malia sauntered off into her own world and took her phone out. Once she started barking down the line, Scott looked back over at Stiles. “You need help with your shoes?”

“I think I’ve got it covered.” Stiles snapped back sarcastically, but ended up faltering on his way past Scott towards the door. “It’s gonna be fine, man. You got this.”

“Thanks.” Scott smiled but it didn’t reach his eyes.

Derek, true to his word, was sitting in his car with the engine idling. He even had the radio on, which was weird considering Stiles couldn’t imagine him ever listening to music. The thought plagued him most of the drive. He was dying to ask, but he stopped himself because he really wasn’t about to strike up any more personal conversations with Derek than he needed to. And he needed to figure out an _in_ – so to speak – to bring up what Scott had said about the whole Alpha thing.

It was going to be a long drive.

“Out with it.” Derek ordered after a while, hands tense around the steering wheel. “Your hesitation is distracting. Just say what you want to say.”

“Stop using your supersonic hearing to tap into my heart beat.” Stiles snapped back, then ended up getting over himself and sighing, looking out the window. “I didn’t think you listened to music.”

“Your interest in my tastes is getting concerning.” Derek replied, making Stiles gape at him. “First my social life, then my choice in socks, now my music?”

“Your social life?”

“You said I wasn’t the texting type.”

“Oh. Well, _yeah._ You pretty much give off this weird caveman vibe, dude.” Stiles explained, waving a hand between them like it’d aid his speech. “Like you’d repel technology. And people like me, who try to contact you using said technology.”

“So you think I’d ignore you because I’m allergic to technology.” Derek said flatly.

“Well, no… obviously. Since we’ve been texting since I left.” Stiles babbled. “Since _you_ left.”

“Since we both left.” Derek confirmed. This conversation was really getting nowhere.

“I wasn’t trying to insult you, if you can believe that.” Stiles said, and was met with silence. “I don’t even know why I text you in the first place. I don’t even know why you’d text back—”

“I just told you I wouldn’t ignore you.”

“— _and_ I guess I was surprised at your colourful choice in socks. Socks can really say something about your personality, you know.” Derek spared him a sideways glance that really expressed how much of an idiot he thought Stiles was. “ _And_ I guess I’ve never seen you listen to music. Like, ever.”

“You don’t know anything about me.”

“That’s just a flat out lie.” Stiles protested weakly, because probably there was some truth to it, but he wasn’t about to give up without a fight here. “And didn’t I disprove that lie the night you climbed into my bedroom without even asking?”

“I’ve never had to ask before.” Derek replied thickly, making Stiles reconsider his past life choices. “I use technology. I wear socks. I listen to music. Is that enough?”

“Not even close.” Stiles turned in his seat and angled his body towards Derek, who glanced over at him. “What is this playing right now?”

Derek gritted his teeth like he didn’t want to answer. “The Black Keys.”

“And who picked out your socks?”

“I did.”

“Then that’s enough.” Stiles said, momentarily satisfied. “For now.” Derek sighed and didn’t say anything else, focusing on the road ahead. Eventually, Stiles’ curiosity got the better of him. “Do you have an iPod?”

“No.” Derek said instantly. “It’s an aux cord. Attached to my cell phone.”

“So your music is on your phone.” Stiles prompted, watching Derek nod slowly like he really didn’t like where the conversation was going, but to hell with that. This was his way in. “Can I see?”

“No.”

“Come on, it can’t be that bad.”

“ _No.”_

“That’s why everybody thinks you’re a caveman.” Stiles said huffily, sitting back properly in his chair and looking at his thumbnail. “You have no idea how to have an actual conversation. All business, no fun.”

“Not everything in my life is fun, Stiles.” Derek said, but Stiles sensed a hint of regret in his voice which he could totally roll with.

“Sure, not _everything_. Nobody’s life is that good. I’m just saying you could lose a whole layer of defence right now. You don’t need it.”

“Really.” Derek sighed. “The guy who got his shoulder dislocated by a Wendigo is telling me to drop my defences?”

“Not when it matters.” Stiles offered. “Just…you’re with me. You don’t need it.” Upon realising how weirdly intimate that had sounded, Stiles cleared his throat. “I mean, I’m just a human. What am I gonna do, really?”

“You’re more than that.” Derek told him and wow, were they having a moment?

“And still you don’t want to drop the layer of ice you’re sporting around me. Fine.” Stiles crossed his arms and gave up. “Whatever, it’s your loss.”

Derek didn’t say anything else the entire journey, and by some impossible feat, neither did Stiles. Kate Austen’s house was so dripping with normality it was almost painful. White picket fence and everything. Derek parked on the opposite side of the street a few houses down so they’d remain somewhat incognito. In the massive jeep. Totally incognito. Stiles almost commented on the ridiculousness of it, but bit it back because he totally wasn’t going to lose this battle of silence between them.

Derek leaned forward and looked up the sky from the windscreen. “It’s getting late. Did you eat?”

It totally wasn’t something he’d expected Derek to ever ask. “No, I’m fine, thank you.”

Derek sighed and sat back in his seat, stretching his fingers out in his lap before turning off the ignition. He kept his eyes trained on the house, watching and waiting. Stiles was already missing the ambient hum of the engine masking the complete and absolutely suffocating silence in the car. Instead, he tried to focus on the house ahead of them and look for anything suspicious.

“You’re thinking the Wendigo would return to the scene of the crime?” Stiles asked. Derek shot him a look.

“She wasn’t taken from here.”

“Then why are we _here?_ ”

“You heard Scott.”

“Since when do you listen to Scott, anyway?” Stiles asked back, realising this was as close to a chance as he would probably ever get. “You used to be an Alpha, surely you resent him. Just a little bit.”

“I don’t.” Derek said, making this way harder than it needed to be. Stiles sighed and rolled his eyes. “I gave up on being an Alpha.”

“To save Cora, right. That doesn’t mean you don’t miss it.”

“I don’t miss it.”

“Liar.”

“What? Stiles.” Derek sighed heavily and offered him a pained glance. “Did Scott put you up to this?”

“What? No.” Stiles tried to collect himself, totally not obviously giving his best friend away. “He didn’t put me up to anything. We’re just having a conversation. You know, two people talking. You’ve heard of that before, right?”

“Scott doesn’t need to question my loyalty.” Derek said firmly with eyes trained ahead, like he could see right through Stiles’ babbling. “He’s the Alpha. That’s it.”

Stiles took his answer to heart, settling further into his seat feeling victorious. But then his stupid curiosity got the better of him and he ended up looking over at Derek from where he sat, fidgeting with his seatbelt. “What’s it like? Being an Alpha, I mean. I mean compared to a beta.”

“It’s a lot of responsibility.” Derek said, surprisingly informative, but he still didn’t look at Stiles. “It can be exhausting when you have a larger pack. Scott has a lot to learn still.”

“Do you want to teach him?” Stiles asked, because why not.

“No.” Derek said instantly, then sighed again. “He doesn’t want my help. And that’s fine.”

“You never know unless you ask him, man.” Stiles offered. “And you did alright at being an Alpha, as far as things go. I mean, yeah you had some really questionable motives for things but come on, that has to come with the territory, right? So cut yourself some slack. Scott probably needs someone to tell him right from wrong.”

“He has you for that.”

Stiles gawked at Derek from where he sat. He couldn’t really make out the ex-Alpha’s features in the dark, but he wanted to imagine Derek showed some kind of regret for taking off and not giving Scott a helping hand. It just didn’t sit right with Stiles – because he _knew_ there was a genuine, caring human being hidden behind all that muscle. Somewhere. “Yeah, and I’m great. Thanks for recommending me. But you’re better – uh, I mean. You have the experience is what I’m trying to say, I guess.”

“You have plenty of experience.”

“What’d I do to deserve all these compliments?” Stiles joked half-heartedly since he was pretty interested in what the answer was going to be. After about a minute, it became clear Derek wasn’t going to answer which was just typical. Instead, he rolled his neck side to side like he was trying to get rid of invisible tension between his shoulder-blades.

So they sat in silence for the most part. Stiles chirped some questions eventually because he couldn’t keep his mouth shut for that long. Derek answered mono-syllabley (a term invented by Stiles, respectively, for Derek) as usual, but it was better than getting ignored and Stiles could totally roll with it. But after an hour, Stiles felt his eyelids drooping in boredom. He yawned loudly, not even bothering to cover his mouth.

“Don’t even think about it.” Derek stared at him with a stern look on his face. Stiles rolled his eyes and leaned his head against the passenger side window. “I’m serious.”

“Or what?” Stiles mumbled sleepily, peaking at Derek with one eye shut. “What’re you gonna do? Kick me out? Because you can’t.”

“I will.”

“And put me straight in harm's way? Please. Then you’d be going back on your promise to my dad. And we both know you’re not about to do that.”

Derek’s stare turned into a hard glare when he must have realised that Stiles was totally right. After a moment of them staring one another down, Derek let out the most aggravated sigh Stiles had ever heard before unbuckling his seatbelt and shaking himself out of his jacket. He hurled it at Stiles on the other side who flinched instinctively when it hit him directly in the face.

“What the f—”

“Use it.” Derek barked and put his tense hands around the steering wheel. “It’s cold. If you’re really going to sleep, use it.”

Stiles gaped, fingers curled tight around the jacket thrust at him, and stared at Derek with his mouth hanging open. Did he really just offer his jacket so Stiles wouldn’t be _cold?_ “What’s the catch?”

“If you don’t use it, I’ll drive you home right now.”

Stiles didn’t doubt that for a second. After weighing the pros and cons of the situation for so long that Derek had started staring at him again, he shrugged and used the jacket as a makeshift blanket, wrapping it around his shoulders and holding it tight around his neck. It was so _warm,_ holy crap, it was like a heated blanket. Before Stiles even had time to think about it, he blurted out, “You’re _hot._ ”

And then realised what he’d said and immediately began to panic. He did not just say that out loud to _Derek Hale –_ someone who undoubtedly already knew their raging sex appeal. But Stiles wasn’t about to let Derek in on the fact that he agreed with general opinion of the population that he was hot as hell. The man in question eyed him cautiously, eyebrow twitching. “What?”

“ _Warm._ I meant – warm. Your jacket—” Stiles wiggled around the fabric to make his point, cheeks heating up, “it’s warm. It’s like a big hot water bottle.” Oh man, _oh man,_ Derek totally wasn’t buying it. Think, Stiles, think. “It’s nice.”

God, he was just making it worse.

Either because he was weirded out, or he simply thought Stiles was an idiot – both perfectly logical conclusions to come to at this point – Derek said nothing in response, settling for looking away back towards the house as if nothing happened. Stiles wasn’t about to dig himself a deeper hole, so he shut his mouth and settled back further into the seat on the off chance it might swallow him whole. It didn’t.

“You’re welcome.” Derek said eventually, all tight and weird and obviously uncomfortable. Aw, shit. Stiles had really opened the wrong door between them. Intent on closing it again, he said nothing and attempt to feign sleep for a while. Eventually, he must have actually nodded off because suddenly he was being shook awake by a large – and very warm – hand on his shoulder.

“Wake up.” Derek almost hissed. “Get out. Get out of the car.”

“Hnng?” Stiles managed before jolting upright when he saw a freakishly large shadow figure hovering near the bushes a few houses down. He wiggled in his seat and managed to untangle himself from Derek’s jacket in order to get out of the car and close the door as quietly as possible. Derek was already at his side watching ahead carefully.

“Is that it?” Stiles whispered, ducking down low behind a fence attached to a really big house to their left. Derek crouched beside him, peering around the edge of the fence to follow wherever the hell the figure was going. He held up his hand in warning – an instruction Stiles knew well. To shut up.

Derek moved stealthily closer to the house and Stiles had no choice but to follow him and try to stay as silent as possible. The ex-Alpha’s back was large enough for him to be completely hidden behind it, so that was something at least.

Once they got closer to the house, the figure had already retreated to the backyard and was no longer in line of sight. Stiles tried to looked around to find it, but then Derek halted to a stop so quickly that he actually collided with him and almost sent them both tumbling on the grass. Instead of cussing him out – something he would have deserved – Derek reached back and grabbed a hold of Stiles’ forearm to steady him. That was new but definitely welcomed given the circumstances. One supernatural creature trying to kill him was enough, he didn’t need two.

“Stay behind me” Derek instructed without even looking back, hand tightening around Stiles’ arm. “And keep quiet, if that’s even possible for you.”

“You’re choosing _now_ to insult my ninja skills?” Stiles hissed back, struggling to get his arm free. Derek wasn’t letting up and simply rose to his feet and all but dragged Stiles with him.

They made their way around the back of the house until the figure came back into view. It was hunched over like it was crouching, next to a kennel at the far side of the back yard. Stiles squinted but still couldn’t make out much in the dark, but he figured Derek would be able to see everything perfectly. Instinctively, or maybe because Derek was already holding onto him, he put his hand on the werewolf’s bicep for some kind of comfort. Derek didn’t seem to mind – he didn’t even react at all to the contact – and kept his eyes focused on the figure ahead.

There was a noise from inside the house, sounding like someone washing dishes in the sink to their right. Whatever it was, Stiles held his breath and watched as the creature twitched and swivelled its body around. The movement cause the back door light to turn on – a freaking motion sensor? Seriously? Right _now?_

The backyard was illuminated and Stiles let out a gasp before he could stop himself. The creature – definitely a Wendigo – was hovering next to the empty dog kennel at the end of the yard. All scaly and nasty with its mouth open and – was it drooling? _Gross._

The Wendigo’s head snapped around at the sound of Stiles’ gasp and immediately it spotted them. Stiles tugged harshly at Derek’s arm because they had to get the _hell_ out of there like _right now._ Derek tensed and his grip tightened painfully on Stiles’ forearm as the Wendigo rose to its feet and stared them down. God, they were _so_ screwed.

It moved forward painfully slowly – like that kind of slow in a horror movie where the killer knew he was going to catch you anyway – and Stiles was about to have a meltdown. It was so _ugly._ It was worse than in the gas station. It had weird tufts of hair pointing in all directions on its head, and weird curly hairs sprouting out of its pointed ears. And—wait. Was that…were those _breasts_? A _female_ Wendigo? That was definitely new. Oh shit, oh shit.

_Oh shit._

“Run!” Derek hissed, obviously directed at Stiles. He let go of Stiles’ arm and pushed him backwards, but to _hell_ with that. Derek didn’t stand a chance and Stiles wasn’t about to let him die for nothing. Stiles held his ground and didn’t tear his gaze away from the creature.

“Roar.” Stiles instructed, remembering how Malia had spooked it before. “Do your wolfy howly thing. Trust me. But do it now before it freaking _eats us!_ ”

Derek didn’t have to be told twice, and if it were under different circumstances, Stiles might have gloated about the apparent trust between them. But this wasn’t one of those circumstances considering he was about to be _eaten._ Or _worse._ Derek roared louder than Stiles had ever heard him, having to cover his ears in the process. It worked, though, because the Wendigo let out a blood-curling shriek and flinched away from them.

“Do it again!” Stiles yelled.

Derek pushed forward into the back yard and snarled loudly at the creature like he was about to fight it. Hell no. Hello? The Wendigo would just eat him for dinner and Stiles wasn’t about to become dessert.

He pushed forward and grabbed Derek’s wrist and _pulled._ The Wendigo shrieked again and freaking _flew_ over the fence and disappeared into the trees. He tugged at Derek’s arm again – fruitless, really, since it was basically like trying to move an entire _house_ – and tried to get him to retreat, but Derek was obviously not finished snarling. And, sure. He could wait.

_Not._

“Derek, c’mon!” Stiles yelled behind him, using both hands to pull at him now. Derek ceased his growling and spun around with his nostrils flaring. Stiles stumbled at the speed of it but managed to catch himself before he went tumbling to the ground. “We have to _go._ Right now.”

And sure enough, a dog started barking somewhere inside the house. There was the sound of keys rattling in the back door, and yeah, they had to get the _hell_ out of there. Derek snapped out of it and grabbed Stiles’ arm, high-tailing it away from the scene before they were made. Stiles let Derek half-sprint to the car and drag him along, stumbling behind him before crashing to a skidding halt. He jumped into the car to find Derek already starting the ignition before speeding down the street at a seriously illegal speed.

“I _had_ it, Stiles.” Derek snarled at him. Stiles had just managed to collect himself and refrain from having a heart attack in the passenger seat before his pulse quickened again in anger. “If you’d _just—”_

“What? Let you _die?”_ Stiles barked back, trying to ignore the speed they were going. “Are you serious? Do you have a death wish?”

“I had it.” Derek shot back.

“And it would’ve had _you_ for dinner _,_ Derek.”

“You are—”

“I’m what? Protecting you?” Stiles interrupted and huffed out a frustrated breath. Derek’s hands were tight around the steering wheel. “Because I _am._ And I did. You would’ve died!”

“I’m a werewolf, you’re a human. _You_ would have died. _I_ was protecting _you._ ”

“Not from where I’m standing!” Stiles yelled back, like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Well, technically he was sitting now, but that wasn’t the point. Derek’s nostrils flared across from him.

“What? Holding onto my arm?” He scoffed. “That’s your idea on how to protect me?”

“Oh, excuse _me._ But I remember _you_ being the one holding onto _me_ first. What was that for, huh? To protect me?”

Derek inhaled sharply but decidedly didn’t reply, leaving Stiles to seethe silently in the passenger seat with his arms folded over his chest for the rest of the drive. They didn’t speak the entire way back to his dad’s house – apparently that’s where Derek was taking him instead of Scott’s loft, because he was an _asshole_ – and the tension in the car was thick and ugly. But not as ugly as the Wendigo, or the image of it tearing Derek’s spine out and using it as a toothpick.

When Derek stopped outside of his house, Stiles didn’t even bother saying anything when he got out the car, slammed the door closed just for the kicks, and stomped inside. Derek sped away without so much as a second glance. And well, there goes whatever progress they’d made in the past year – poof, gone, just like that. What an asshole. Stiles continued to seethe when he got inside and kicked off his shoes, leaving them in a messy pile at the front door.

His dad, predictably, heard the commotion and appeared at the top of the stairs with a concerned look on his face. Stiles’ resolve crumbled slightly at the sight of his dad, dressed in pyjamas and looking tired.

“Stiles?” His dad descended the stairs cautiously, then caught sight of the look on Stiles’ face and his own expression hardened. “What happened?”

“Oh, nothing. I just can’t seem to do anything right.” Stiles shot back even though his dad was totally innocent in all of this, and Stiles’ issues were nobody’s fault but his own. His dad furrowed his eyebrows at him.

“Fight with Scott?”

“No.”

His dad hesitated, then made his way to the door and peered out the window to see if he could see anything that would explain Stiles’ anger. Coming up with nothing, he turned back around and looked at Stiles with a concerned face. “What happened, son?”

“We saw the Wendigo.” Stiles said flatly, disappearing into the kitchen with his dad hot on his heels. “In the backyard of Kate Austen’s parent’s house.”

“Did it attack you?”

“No, Derek scared it off.”

His dad faltered visibly, making Stiles glance over at him. “You fought with Derek, then.” At Stiles’ guilty silence, he obviously took that as a yes and motioned for Stiles to take a seat at the kitchen table before settling down across from him. “What happened?”

“Nothing.” Stiles said huffily, looking down at his shaking hands on the table. He didn’t understand why he was so affected by one argument, but the idea that Derek thought _he_ was the one who was in the right really just irked Stiles. “Derek’s just…”

“Derek’s just?” His dad prompted when Stiles didn’t continue. Stiles sighed heavily and shook his head.

“A different breed.”

“Well, he’s a werewolf, Stiles. We knew that.” His dad said like Stiles was an idiot, which, seriously, not helping. “Were you hurt?”

“No, I’m not hurt. Not physically, anyway.” Stiles blurted out before he could stop it, making his dad’s face soften. “I just don’t deal with conflict very well.”

“Tell me what happened, son.” His dad had an expression on his face that he used to use when Stiles was a kid, to get him to spill his guts. Unfortunately, it totally still worked, much to Stiles’ dismay.

“We just got in an argument. It’s not a big deal.” Stiles waved his hand dismissively. “I didn’t let him die, or whatever. Now he’s being an asshole about it.”

“Doesn’t sound like something to be angry about.”

“Yeah, tell me something I don’t know.”

“You’ll figure it out.” His dad said firmly, leaning forward and putting his hand on Stiles’ forearm. But Stiles wasn’t comforted by it one bit – it actually reminded him of Derek holding onto him. “You saw the Wendigo and you’re here without a scratch on you. Something tells me Derek did something right.”

“Seriously? You’re taking his side?”

“I’m not taking anybody’s side. I’m just telling you how it is.” His dad moved his hand away and stood up from the table, tucking the chair back underneath. “He kept his word to protect you and that’s more than I can say for Scott.”

Then, as if on cue, the doorbell rang. Stiles jumped out of his skin, flushed with adrenaline like he was ready to fight someone if it was Derek at the door. His face must have given him away because his dad sighed at him and went to get the door. “I’ll tell him to go.”

Seriously: best dad ever.

Stiles sat and seethed on his own, looking down at his hands and sighing heavily. Sure, maybe Derek _did_ protect him but it was Stiles who told him to use his voice in the first place. If he hadn’t commanded Derek to roar at the Wendigo, it would have probably ate them for dinner. Or breakfast, if it was intent on kidnapping them back to its nest. Not that it mattered because Stiles was, indeed, alive and so was Derek. And Derek was being a grade-A asshole about it. Stiles didn’t understand.

His dad popped his head in the kitchen doorway and gestured towards the door, making Stiles narrow his eyes. “It’s Scott.”

Oh, okay. What was that weird niggle of disappointment Stiles felt? What was that all about? Had he _wanted_ Derek to turn up? Not like Derek would apologise anyway – he’d probably just call Stiles an idiot and be done with it, and they’d go on pretending nothing ever happened. That’s what used to happen, and neither of them were better for it. Not like they’d probably talked over text more this year than they ever talked in person ever. Stiles sighed and decided to talk to Scott, anyway. It was likely his friend was over the moon about the new tension.

He ushered Scott up the stairs and into his room without another word to his dad. He didn’t want to have another heart to heart about Derek – or _anything,_ for that matter, because Stiles would surely open up some can of worms he didn’t want his dad privy to.

“What did you do to Derek?” Scott asked as soon as Stiles closed his bedroom door.

“What the hell do you mean what did _I_ do?”

“He came back to the loft about as close to wolfed out as he could be.” Scott explained with worried eyes. Stiles shook his head. “I mean, without actually wolfing out.”

“And you think I did something to him because…?”

“Because you saw the Wendigo and you’re still here.” Scott said like that made any sense at all. Stiles gave him his best _what the hell_ face. “And the Wendigo is still out there, Derek didn’t kill it. So what happened?”

“It was going to kill us.” Stiles told his friend flatly as he made his way over to the window to peer down at the grass below, wondering if he’d ever get another visit from Derek Hale: The Asshole. “I made him scare it away.”

“Scare it away?”

“Like Malia did, with the roaring, you know.” Stiles made a half-assed attempt to mimic a werewolf howl, but it ended up coming out sounding like a choking cat. Scott huffed out a laugh and started shaking his head. “And he wasn’t too happy about it. About being alive, I mean. What the hell was I supposed to do?”

“Let him kill it, maybe?” Scott sighed. “It would have saved us this conversation.”

“And have it claw him to death, Scott? What the hell kind of plan is that? Because as you all keep reminding me, I’m just a human! How was I supposed to help him?”

“He doesn’t need help. At least not in my experience.” Scott said flatly like he wasn’t happy about it either. He took a seat in Stiles’ desk chair and spun around in a circle for a minute, thinking. Stiles looked back out the window and scowled into the night. “Did you get a good look at it?”

“Yeah,” Stiles replied, looking over at his friend, “a lot more than I wanted to see. It looked…different. But it was hard to tell, since last time I saw it, it was dark. But I dunno. It might be a different one.”

“I don’t think so. Derek described the scent to me, it was the same as before. I think, if we’re lucky, it’s only a straggler.”

“Dude. This one had _breasts._ Or what _used_ to be breasts before they got all shrivelled up and gross.”

“That’s disgusting.” Scott wrinkled his nose from where he sat. “I didn’t get a good look at the other one in terms of…breasts. It looked the same otherwise?”

“From what I could tell, yeah.” Stiles offered. “But I was kinda distracted by getting us the hell out of there.”

“Derek didn’t really say anything about you, just that you were fine and safe at home.” Scott said suddenly, making Stiles raise an eyebrow. “You really saved him?”

“As much as I could.” Stiles huffed, rubbing at his arm where Derek had grabbed him earlier. “He’s the one who dragged me back to the car.”

“At least you’re okay. Stiles, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have sent you with him.” Scott apologised, looking guiltily up at Stiles from where he sat. Stiles sighed, knowing he couldn’t really stay mad at his best friend for that long. “Next time—”

“There won’t be a next time.” Stiles interrupted. “Derek made that pretty clear.”

“You know what he’s like. Whatever he said, he didn’t mean.”

“Tell that to my bruised ego.”

“I’ll try to talk to him.” Scott offered, but Stiles knew he’d have better luck talking to the wallpaper. “You didn’t get a chance to…”

“Talk to him about your Alpha status? I did, because that’s totally the most important thing right now.”

“Stiles…”

“He doesn’t want to challenge you.” Stiles said firmly and tore himself away from the window to settle down on his bed. He watched Scott closely from where he sat, knowing the werewolf was probably listening to his heartbeat for the flicker of a lie. “At least, that’s what he told me. I wouldn’t question his loyalty to you, I mean, he came back, didn’t he? He could’ve told you to buzz off, but he didn’t. And he said something like—” Stiles waved his hand at his friend, “—you still have a lot to learn about being an Alpha.”

“I know that.” Scott said solemnly. “But it’s not like he wasn’t the worse Alpha in the history of Alpha’s.”

“Don’t say that.” Stiles defended Derek instinctively, like it was an impulse buried deeply inside him. “He had a lot going on, what? With Peter and Cora? That was messed up beyond belief. You couldn’t write that kind of crap.”

“He deserves his own reality show.”

“I know, _right?_ ”

“Derek Hale: The Truth Behind His Zombie Uncle and Kid Sister.”

Stiles barked out a laugh that made Scott laugh too. “Something more witty than that. But totally not the point here. He made it sound like he was willing to teach you, if you wanted it, I mean. You know, because it worked out so well the first time.”

Scott sighed in response and rolled his shoulders. Stiles remembered the first day they’d met Derek, trespassing on private land. Everything had been so normal back then and Stiles’ biggest worry had been trying to get Lydia to notice him. Then he was thrown into a life he never, ever asked for – well, okay, not really, because like hell was he letting Scott do it alone. Derek just became part of the deal. It was both of them or no one, and Stiles didn’t feel like living his completely mundane life on his own.

“I’ll think about it.” Scott said finally and rose to his feet. “I should get back. You sure you’re okay? Do you want me to stay?”

Stiles glanced towards his window in thought before saying, “No, it’s okay. I’ll call you as soon as I know anything.”

“I’ll do the same.” Scott made his way to the door, but ended up hesitating before pulling Stiles to his feet and hugging him. Stiles returned it easily, thankful that Scott was there for him after everything. “Come to the loft tomorrow and clear the air. I’ll be there.”

“Yeah, maybe.” Stiles pat his friend on the back as they parted. “I’ll think about it.”

“You know, I’m your Alpha. I could just—”

“Scott.”

“Yeah, okay, see you tomorrow.”

_tbc_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope everyone enjoyed this little chapter, it's not as long as the last one though. I'm not sure how long this story will be as I'm just kind of making it up as I go along right now. 
> 
> It's not beta'd so I'll get to the mistakes when I can ♥


	3. Raison de S'inquiéter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Chapter Title translation:** Raison de S'inquiéter - Reason for Anxiety

Stiles had just waved his dad off to work and sat down to enjoy his coffee – and a morning free of werewolves and Wendigos – when the doorbell rang and interrupted his bliss. He bit down any sort of reservations he had and swung the door open, because hey, Wendigo’s couldn’t use doorbells, right? _Right?_

It certainly wasn’t a Wendigo at the door. Instead, much to Stiles shock and horror, it was Lydia Martin, wearing what could only be described as a dress that was _made_ for her small body. It clung tight at her waist and loose at her legs, just going below the knees. She looked older – who didn’t, at this point? – but more importantly she looked _furious._ At _Stiles_. Get in line, lady.

“Stiles.” Lydia greeted him from outside and made no move to enter. Stiles stared at her stupidly with one hand still on the door handle. “Good to see you. Or should I say, good to see that you’re _back._ Because you know, of all the people who should have been informed of this, it should have been me. You know, your girlfriend? Unless you’re trying to tell me something by keeping me in the dark. Which would make you an even bigger asshole than I first thought.” She stopped to take a breath, then stared Stiles down. “Well? Which one is it?”

“Uh.” Stiles grunted like an absolute moron. “Definitely the first one. How did you find me?”

“Scott broadcasts.” Lydia explained but the look on her face was absolutely terrifying. Stiles was dead, and it wasn’t going to be by the hands of a Wendigo. “In case you’ve forgotten anything else on your little trip, I am part of the pack just like you. And I know when my Alpha is acting weird.”

“Scott’s always weird.”

“Don’t I know it.” Lydia said, momentarily distracted. “When were you going to tell me you were back? Or weren’t you?”

“I wasn’t.” Stiles said instantly, which was obviously the absolute _wrong_ thing to say and he was starting to second-guess his decision to keep Lydia in the dark. “I mean, I thought it would—I thought it would make it harder for us. I mean—if I just—uh. If I just turned up for two weeks and left again.”

Lydia appeared to consider that for a second. “Okay, I accept your apology.”

Well, that was easy.

“However—” Aww, crap. “I won’t forget it. And next time you’re in town, a simple call or text will suffice. Unless you’re planning on staying for good. Then I’d at least expect a house visit.”

“You got it.” Stiles replied, aching to add _ma’am_ to the end of it. But he definitely wasn’t about to anger Lydia further when in reality she had every right to be upset with him. He was really bad at this relationship stuff. Especially if his past with Malia was anything to compare it to. The amount of time and energy he’d wasted on Lydia in the past was testament enough to how much Stiles cared about her. And now he had her, and he didn’t know what to do. It was complicated.

“Did your dad give you back the keys to your jeep?” Lydia asked and brought Stiles back to reality. “In the garage.”

“Yes. Yeah, he did.” Stiles babbled. “Why?”

“Get them. We’re going for a drive.”

Crap.

Stiles really had no choice but to stumble back into the kitchen and scramble to grab his keys from the kitchen table, before bolting back to the front door and following Lydia to the garage. The sun was shining and made her hair look lighter – and beautiful, of course – but her face was still grimacing. Stiles had to fix that sooner or later.

Scott had apparently driven Stiles’ jeep home last night, given the fact that he’d left it at the loft and Derek had driven to Kate Austen’s house. There wasn’t a scratch on it – thankfully – and Stiles stopped to send him a quick thank you text before getting in the car.

Lydia was quiet at first, but once they’d been sitting completely stationary for at least three minutes, she finally spoke. “You’re going to take me to Scott’s loft.”

“What?” Stiles looked over at her, because this really couldn’t be happening. “Why do you want to go there?”

“I want an explanation as to why I’ve been kept in the dark about all of this.” Lydia told him, then gestured for Stiles to start the ignition, so he did. “And I want Scott to tell me what _exactly_ is so important for you to come back for. I can’t imagine it’s good, and you’ll need my help sooner or later so let’s just get this over with now.”

Stiles couldn’t really argue with that, so he didn’t. He drove cautiously to Scott’s loft since he was basically a twitching ball of nerves in the driver’s seat. Lydia said nothing the entire journey, simply staring out of the window without so much as a glance at him. Man, he really had to run some serious damage control.

Scott and Malia were waiting outside the loft when they arrived, obviously having heard them coming. Malia must have known she would have to ease Lydia’s anger before they went inside because her face was torn like she wasn’t looking forward to the earful she was about to get.

As Lydia stepped out of the car and slammed the door, making Stiles wince, she immediately got in Malia’s face and demanded an explanation. Malia glanced over at Stiles with a look on her face like she hated him. Get in line.

Scott separated from the girls once it became apparent that Lydia wasn’t acknowledging his greetings or apologies, and settled for giving Stiles a hand out of the car like he thought he needed it. Stiles huffed and rubbed the back of his neck, looking over at Lydia and Malia who were engrossed in some hushed whispering back and forth.

“Thanks for bringing my jeep back last night.” Stiles said absently, looking to Scott with a small smile. But his friend’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“I didn’t.” Scott said slowly, like he didn’t understand what Stiles was trying to say. “I went on foot. Your jeep was here when I came back, I think Derek took it back for you.”

“He _what_?” Stiles barked, Lydia and Malia momentarily forgotten. “Why?”

“Probably his way of apologising.” Malia interrupted them with Lydia in tow, looking less angry than she had been. “For whatever he did to you. He was a real asshole last night.”

“That doesn’t sound promising.” Lydia said.

“He took off during the night without a word. I guess that’s what he was doing.” Malia continued with a look on her face like she’d rather be somewhere else. Stiles understood the feeling. But that still didn’t explain why Derek would do that. Did he really use his jeep as an apology? Was that really why?

Stiles wouldn’t count on it for a second. Derek had been furious last night. Why would he suddenly have a change of heart?

“Let’s go up.” Scott instructed the group, looking at Stiles strangely. He didn’t speak again until the girls had entered the loft, grabbing Stiles by the arm just outside. “What’s going on with you two?”

“With Lydia?” Stiles raised an eyebrow. “She just turned up wanting to kill me. What else is new?”

“No.” Scott let go of his arm and shook his head. “You and Derek.”

“What?”

“I’ve never seen him like that before, except when—you know.” Scott shook his head, remembering the many times he had seen Derek furious. Times Stiles wanted to forget. “And he just took off without saying anything last night, and came back like it was nothing. Why’d he take your jeep back? Did he talk to you last night?”

“What? No.” Stiles snapped back. “What is this? Why’re you interrogating me about Derek? How am I supposed to know what he’s thinking?”

“Because you care about him. You have since the beginning.”

“And that makes me a mind reader?”

“No.” Scott sighed and looked through the door inside of his loft. Stiles peered around him to look too, his eyes meeting Derek’s who was obviously eavesdropping. Stiles whipped his head back around out of view and shook his head. Scott whispered, “He’s listening to us.”

“I figured with the way he’s staring at us.”

“He’s staring at _you.”_ Scott snapped, looking at Stiles like he’d betrayed him. “Want to tell me why Derek’s so interested in your heart beat all of a sudden?”

Stiles didn’t have an answer for that, and settled for pushing Scott out of the way and shooting him a look as he entered the loft. Derek wasn’t looking at him anymore and had his back turned, looking out the window and onto the street below. Lydia was sitting next to Theo on the sofa, chatting quietly, prompting Stiles to make his way over to them.

“Theodora!” Stiles exclaimed, ignoring Theo’s growing glare. “So you decided to gift us with your presence finally. What? No detention today?”

“It’s Saturday.” Came the response.

“Stop bullying him and sit down.” Lydia ordered, and Stiles had no choice but to obey.

Malia and Scott caught Lydia up to speed, but it wasn’t without a few pointed looks in Stiles’ direction. Scott was visibly tense, sneaking glances over at Derek who hadn’t moved from the window in quite some time. Stiles felt like punching him because he really didn’t need to worry about whatever Derek’s problem with him was with Lydia in the room. He had to patch things up with her before dealing with anything else.

Lydia sat and listened intently for a long time, actually letting Stiles show her the missing person files and listening to him blabber about Kate Austen and their chance encounter with the Wendigo at her house. He left out the part about him and Derek’s argument, since it was already pack knowledge and she’d find out eventually.

“So.” Lydia said once it’d all sank in. “My first question would be, why didn’t any of you tell me this?”

“To protect you.” Scott said instantly, but Lydia just rolled her eyes at him.

“And you didn’t think I’d be useful in this kind of situation?” Lydia snapped back, her curly hair swaying around her face. “I’ll be able to warn you if it’s going to kill again. Or if any of you are going to kill each other, because the air in here is suffocating.”

Lydia Martin, banshee of the century, but also weirdly _psychic_. She _really_ didn’t need to know the tension was between him and Derek. Really. He didn’t want her privy to that – not that he really understood why not. Nonetheless, Stiles felt himself beaming with pride at Lydia’s perception, but he his face probably just looked mortified.

“She’s right.” Derek said from where he stood, prompting everyone to look over at him. The ex-Alpha kept his back turned but tilted his head to the side. “We could use her help."

“Listen to your old Alpha over there.” Lydia agreed cheerfully, making Derek smirk and Stiles want to smack him. “And next time maybe _someone_ won’t get their shoulder dislocated.”

“ _Hey._ ”

“That was my fault.” Scott admitted, looking at Malia with a frown. “It won’t happen again.”

“See that it doesn’t.” Lydia threatened back, and woah, she was totally challenging Scott. Stiles gaped at her from where he sat but she didn’t look at him. That was a cold shoulder if Stiles ever saw one. “Do you have a plan or were you just hoping to run into it again?”

“Corey and Liam are out tracking its scent right now. They’ve been out all night so they’ll probably be back soon. Hopefully with good news or we’re screwed.” Malia said and crossed her arms. “Which is putting it lightly. We only have six months before it’ll kill again.”

“You’re forgetting about the possible hostage.” Stiles added.

“Right. That too. We’re already screwed.”

“How long until it kills her?” Lydia asked Derek, who was now facing the rest of them. Stiles looked over at him hesitantly but thankfully the ex-Alpha wasn’t looking at him and instead was focused on Scott.

“We don’t know.” Derek said. Scott met his eyes with a frown. “Could be a few days, maybe a week. But we don’t know for sure.”

“Great.” Lydia mumbled.

“And it’s already had her for four days already.” Stiles added, prompting Derek to look at him sternly. “If it’s keeping her for a midnight snack, she’s still alive. Derek and I saw it last night at her house, like I said. It was hanging around the dog kennel.”

“You think it’s after the dog, too?” Derek asked Stiles, obviously forgetting the silent agreement between them to _not talk to each other._ Which was totally just in Stiles’ head but, come on, seriously. Not cool.

“I don’t know.” Stiles huffed, then turned back to Scott. “You said it attacked the dog, right? But didn’t kill it.”

Before Scott could reply, Derek spoke again. “You said it could have been a tactic to weaken her defences. That’s highly more likely than it going after an animal when the entire town is full of people.”

“You’re saying people are more filling?”

“Yes.”

“Well, you would know.” Stiles shot back, ignoring the glare Derek gave him. Lydia raised an eyebrow at him questioningly and aww, crap. He was totally going to hear about this later. His attempt to hide the growing situation between him and Derek crumbled before his eyes and he looked down at the floor in defeat.

“You think it’s after the rest of her family?” Malia asked him. “Why else would it return to the scene of the crime if not for the dog?”

“So let’s assume the worst.” Lydia offered. “Let’s say it’s after the rest of the family _and_ the dog.”

“We’ll take rotating shifts watching the house.” Scott announced in his True Alpha voice, making Stiles roll his eyes. “Malia and I will do it tonight. Derek, you take over from us tomorrow night. We’ll work it out from there. If it comes back, we’ll be ready.”

“That’s a great plan and everything,” Stiles began, looking over at Scott, “but what about Austen? Even if you do somehow miraculously manage to kill this thing, we still don’t know where its nest is. Ergo, we have no way of finding her.”

“We’ll research it.” Lydia told him, nudging Stiles in the side. “We’ll do what we can to find out what kind of places Wendigo’s like to hibernate. Hypothetically, of course.”

“Hypothetically?” Derek asked. Stiles shot him a look like _dude, stop talking._

“Yes.” Lydia said, turning around to peer up at Derek with those piercing eyes of hers. Derek seemed to falter, which pleased Stiles greatly. “Since the only research we have to go on is pretty much all speculation and fairy tales.”

“More like fairy-nightmares.” Stiles joked, but obviously no one in the room had a sense of humour because everyone went silent. “Something I said?”

“You’re an idiot.” Theo told him from where he sat, hidden behind Lydia. Stiles felt like reaching around and slapping him across the face. “There’s no such thing as fairies.”

“And you would know that how? You got a supernatural creatures manual I don’t know about?”

“No.” Theo snapped back, but he looked kind of confused. “I just don’t think they’re real.”

“They’re real.” Derek informed him, making Theo snap his mouth closed and widen his eyes. Stiles glanced back at Derek to find the other man looking at him again. Stiles – against his better judgement – offered him a small smile for defending him. Derek didn’t return it like an asshole.

“Are you three finished?” Malia asked, irritated, then looked at Scott. “Let’s go. I’ll call Liam on the way.”

Stiles took that as his cue to leave too, taking Lydia’s hand and pulling her up from the sofa. She let him, surprisingly, but she didn’t squeeze his hand back or anything like she used to. Instead, she glanced back at Derek and held his gaze for what felt like an eternity – in reality it was only a few seconds, give or take – before letting Stiles pull her out of the loft and down the stairs after Scott and Malia.

“Be careful.” Lydia said once they’d retreated back to their cars. “No more dislocated shoulders.”

“Don’t worry about us, ginger.” Malia said back but it was obvious Lydia didn’t appreciate the nickname. “We’re going to head to Scott’s mom’s house first.”

“Yeah.” Scott agreed, fidgeting with his keys once Malia got in the car. Lydia shook her head and climbed into Stiles’ jeep and waited. “I’m going to check in with my mom before I go anywhere. She’s kind of wondering why I’ve not been home.”

“You didn’t tell her?” Stiles asked, wondering why the hell his friend wouldn’t tell her after everything.

“I did, but not about Derek being back. I don’t want her worrying why we needed to ask for his help.”

“Well, she’s gonna find out sooner or later. I mean, my dad knows, so.”

“Yeah.” Scott sighed and gave Stiles a look. “Do you think he’d tell Chris?”

“I don’t know.” And it was true, he didn’t know if Chris Argent would even be interested. Or it was possible that he already knew what was going on and decidedly didn’t tell the pack anything. Both definite possibilities. “He’ll want to help, you know.”

“I know.” Scott grimaced. “Which is fine, maybe not with Derek, though.”

“Oh, to hell with Derek. You’re the Alpha. You make the decisions for all of us. If you think we need his help, then tell him.”

Scott smiled suddenly, all wide and all teeth. Stiles felt himself smile back. “Thanks, Stiles.”

“Don’t mention it.” Stiles waved his hand, awkwardly dismissing the moment they were having. It was true none the less – Scott was his Alpha and that was the end of it. It didn’t matter if Derek was there or not. He knew it too. “You two better get going. I have to deal with…well, the pretty red-head in my car.”

“She’ll forgive you. She always does.”

“Yeah, well, if you hear her screaming don’t bother coming. It’ll just be because she’s about to murder me.”

Scott gave him a strange look before looking back up at the loft. He furrowed his brow before patting Stiles on the shoulder and getting into the car. Stiles stood in front of it and watched them drive off, before decidedly facing the music. Lydia was waiting patiently in the car with her seatbelt already fastened, picking at her thumbnail, by the time Stiles climbed back inside and drove away.

“You didn’t want to come back?” Lydia asked him quietly once they were on the open road. Stiles shook his head at her. “Why not?”

“Because I thought I’d be able to get away from all this. You know,” Stiles sighed, “all the killing and arguing. It feels like it follows me wherever I go.”

“That’s because it does.” Lydia told him with a humourless laugh. “And you prefer it that way. If there was nothing going on, you’d hate it.”

“I guess. I just wanted to go to school and make something of myself without having to look over my shoulder every five minutes.”

“You still looked over your shoulder at the academy, didn’t you?”

Stiles smirked over at Lydia in response, who looked down at her hands. “It’s kind of a survival instinct by this point. Can never let your guard down after all that’s happened to us.”

“I get that.” Lydia hummed in agreement, then looked out the side window. “I think it’s easier for me since I have a built-in alarm system when something bad is about to happen.”

“Have you had to use it?” Stiles asked, focused on the road ahead because he wasn’t sure what he wanted the answer to be. “I mean. Has anything happened since I’ve been gone?”

“Would you care if it had?”

“Lydia, come on.” Stiles frowned. “I know I left, but that doesn’t mean I stopped caring.”

“Could’ve fooled me.” Lydia shot back, scowling over at Stiles. Stiles, for whatever reason, starting accelerating. “I don’t blame you for leaving. I blame you for coming back.”

“Huh?”

“You got away from all of this. Why did you come back?”

“Because Scott needed my help.” Stiles answered plainly, not really understanding where this was going. He gunned it down the street and watched the trees fizzle into a blur around the car. Lydia gripped onto the seat but didn’t comment on his recklessness. “I wasn’t about to leave him on his own.”

“He wasn’t on his own, he just chose to be.” Lydia pointed out, sounding stiff.

“He’s not alone now.”

“Even Derek came back.” Lydia mused. “How about that?”

“What about it?” Stiles asked back, knowing he was getting closer to Lydia’s house by the second. He really didn’t want to leave her on a sour note, so he mustered up some courage. “I missed you.”

“I know you did.” Lydia said, which was totally not what Stiles wanted to hear. “But not enough to come back on your own. Not enough to even let me know you _were_ back.”

Stiles sighed heavily and rubbed at his face with one hand, the other secure around the steering wheel. “I should have told you, I know. But I just didn’t see the point in it, I mean, I thought it’d make you more upset knowing I was leaving again.”

“Are you?” Lydia asked quietly, once Stiles had pulled up to her house and sat back in his seat, cutting the engine and giving her an agonizing look. “Are you leaving after all this is over?”

“Yeah.” Stiles said, but he knew he hesitated. He knew it. She knew it. “I’m going back once this is over.”

“Then why did you tell Scott you’d only be staying for two weeks?”

“How did you know that?”

“I told you, Scott broadcasts.” Lydia explained as she looked up at her house from inside the car. “And he’s very informative if you push hard enough.”

“It’s supposed to be for two weeks.” Stiles told her, looking sadder and sadder at the situation. He didn’t want to hurt Lydia. He didn’t want to hurt anyone. But it seemed like he had to. “If it takes longer, I’ll stay longer. But I can’t stay forever, Lyds. I have to get back to the academy eventually.”

After a long and sombre moment of deliberation, Lydia nodded once, then unbuckled her seatbelt and got out of the car. Stiles watched her go into the house without so much as a glance back at him, fiddling with her keys and closing the front door behind her lithe frame. He sat silently in his car for a while after, probably looking like some kind of stalker. But he wasn’t. He was just…well, he didn’t really know what he was. Devastated, maybe. Guilty, sure. Confused, most definitely.

Lydia was everything to Stiles for a long time. She’d speak and Stiles would trip over himself in glee and adoration, and since they’d finally gotten together – a long time coming – things had been sweet as pie. Easy. Until Stiles left, and now there was some bitterness to their relationship. Stiles loved her, of course he did – he’s spent so much of his life in love with Lydia that he wasn’t sure how to stop. Time hadn’t been on their side though, nor distance, and he knew a strain when he saw it in Lydia’s eyes.

He only had himself to blame.

Sighing and cursing himself out, Stiles turned the key in the ignition and drove away with full intent on going back home. But for some reason he ended up driving to the police station like his hands and feet had other ideas. He climbed out of the car and ran a hand through his hair, squinting up at the sun above his head. It was a nice day – which were few and far between in Beacon Hills as far as he could remember – and there wasn’t an ounce of fear in him for the first time since he’d come back.

As much as he could gather, the Wendigo didn’t hunt during the day like some kind of vampire and only sought out potential victims in the dead of night.

He found his dad slouching at his desk buried in paperwork once he got inside and managed to dodge the receptionist on the way in. She’d have probably pinched his cheeks – like she always did – and tell him how big he’d gotten – also something she always did. She was nice, sure, but overbearing like a great aunt he never asked for who was always invited for holidays and always gave him a sloppy kiss on the cheek when she left.

“Son?” His dad asked, tearing his eyes away from the papers scattered across his desk in surprise. Stiles smiled warmly and perched on the edge of his desk, hands splayed over the paperwork because he was nosy. “What’re you doing here?”

“Thought you could use some help.” Stiles offered, then ended up knocking over a stapler on the desk and sending it crashing to the ground. It popped open and sent staples in all directions on the carpet. “Or I thought I’d rearrange your desk, you know, like the loving son I am.”

“Pick it up.” His dad sighed, but there was a grin hiding there somewhere and Stiles could see it. He jumped off the desk and gathered up the sea of staples embedded in the carpet without another word, doing as he was told. It wasn’t until he was sitting on the chair on the other side of his dad’s desk, struggling to put the stapler back together, that his dad spoke again. “What’re you _really_ doing here?”

Stiles’ hands fidgeted with the stapler in his hands before it clunked back together and he placed it gingerly back on the desk between them. “You hungry? It’s lunch time.”

“Is it?” His dad looked at his watch before he sighed and took his glasses off to rub at his eyes with one hand. “I didn’t realise.”

“We’re going out. Outside. Come on.” Stiles stood up and gestured with his thumb towards the door of the office. “I’ll get you something from the coffee truck and we’ll eat it in the sun. It’s a nice out there, and I don’t want you cooped up in here all day.”

His dad looked down at the paperwork on his desk, deliberating, before he sighed and rose to his feet. He’d unbuttoned his collar by the time they made it outside. Stiles bought them burgers – one hamburger, one veggie burger – and ushered his dad to a bench around the back of the station. He’d missed this, for sure. Sitting with his dad and keeping him company over his lunch break. And also taking care of him, because he knew his dad wouldn’t do a great job of it on his own. He was an adult, sure, but at some point growing up Stiles knew _he_ had to be the adult now. So that’s what he was doing.

“Thanks, kid.” His dad said around a mouthful of burger, offering Stiles a smile. “It’s nice to have you back. Gives me a reason to get outside.”

“That’s the only reason?” Stiles joked, tearing into his veggie burger in delight. “You can go outside whenever you want, you know. You don’t need me to drag you.”

“I’ve got a lot of paperwork.” His dad admitted, taking a sip from the specifically _diet_ coke Stiles had bought him. Because a hamburger was enough cholesterol for one afternoon. “I haven’t really made time for myself since you’ve been gone.”

“What’d you mean?”

“It’s been tough, not having you under my roof.” His dad said quietly, staring at his hamburger. “The house is quiet at night. Too quiet. And during the day, I suppose, but I spend every day here at the station so I don’t notice it then. But at night, during dinner, it’s different.” His dad hesitated suddenly, and Stiles could feel a familiar ache in his chest at the sight. His dad then shook his head and said, “Sorry, didn’t mean to make you feel bad. I’m proud of you for going to the academy, don’t think I’m not. I’m so proud of you, son.”

Stiles didn’t reply right away, looking at his dad with heartbreak. He’d known his dad would take it hard when he left, but not this hard. Being alone in that house without Stiles – and without his mom – must have been torture for his dad, and Stiles hadn’t even thought about that once since he’d been away. His heart hammered in his chest erratically at the sight of his dad sulking into his lunch. “Hey, pops, it’s okay. I’m sorry—I—”

“Don’t apologise. You have a life to live.” His dad interrupted, and Stiles watched as a cloud cast a shadow over them. “And I won’t stop you from living it. I want you to be successful in whatever path you choose.”

“I haven’t chosen a path yet.” Stiles said and surprised himself, since all he’d been thinking about before was working for the FBI. But obviously Beacon Hills was having some effect on him like a bad spell, surrounding him and making him second-guess a lot of life choices. “I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

“Don’t stay here on my account.”

“I’m not saying that.” Stiles attempted to distract himself by taking a massive bite of his burger and struggling to form words around it. “I guess I—I mean I haven’t really figured out what my path even is yet.”

“You have time. You’re young.” His dad told him, settling back into his burger and effectively ending the heart-to-heart they were having when he ended up choking on it. Stiles snorted a laugh and pushed his coke towards his dad, who sipped at it thankfully. “Sorry, kid. My table manners are lacking recently.”

“We’ll fix that, don’t worry. You’ll eat plenty of meals with me to get them back.” Stiles joked, but there was some truth to his words. “I’ll teach you how to use a knife and fork and everything.”

His dad rolled his eyes and scrunched up a napkin in his hands, wiping himself free of crumbs. “You want to tell me the real reason you stopped by, kid?”

Stiles sighed and put down the rest of his burger, looking off to the side. “Lydia found me. And when I say found me, I mean she turned up at the house and threatened my life.”

“Well, you had it coming.” His dad admitted which totally wasn’t helping. “What were you thinking, anyway? Keeping her out of all this.”

“I don’t know. I guess I just thought it’d be easier if she didn’t know I was here.”

“Why would that make anything easier?” His dad snorted. “You know, kiddo, you’re not the best at relationships. I guess you get that from me and not your mother.”

“You and mom were happy, dad.”

“I know we were. But that doesn’t mean we didn’t have our moments.” His dad frowned up at the sun for a moment, with Stiles watching him. “She challenged me on everything and never took no for an answer. She made me question everything I believed in, but I was better for it. I owed a lot to her, I still do. She’s still teaching me, in some way.”

Stiles looked down at the table and clasped his hands together shakily. The topic of his mom was a tough one for both of them, but sometimes it was necessary. His mom seemed like the kind of woman who always knew what to do, always knew what was coming and what the outcome would be. Stiles wished he could be like that. “Lydia does that too. Sometimes I feel like I’m holding her back.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. She’s a lot better than me in so many ways.”

“I don’t doubt it.” His dad said, making Stiles roll his eyes at the absolute moment ruiner that was his father. “If you feel that way, you should talk to her. Otherwise you’ll never move forward.” Stiles did nothing but shrug in response, not really sure how to voice his tangled web of thoughts on the situation. On any situation, really. “How’s it going with the others?”

“Fine, I guess.” Stiles shrugged again which caused his dad to shake his head. “Okay, not great. There’s some semblance of a plan forming but I’m not too sure how effective it’ll be. Lydia and I are going to research what kind of places a Wendigo likes to nest.”

“Do you need help?” His dad asked. “I can look into anything you need.”

“Unless your computer in there has extensive information on Wendigo nesting habits, I think I’m good.” Stiles said instantly. “But…thanks. For the offer, I mean. It’ll be fine. I’ll keep you in the loop.”

“You want to tell me what happened with Derek?”

Stiles faltered visibly at that. Of course did dad could read him like an open book – like most people could, because damn his broadcasting capabilities. And he had promised his dad two seconds prior to keep him in the loop. Like his dad had just been waiting for his chance.

“Nothing is happening with Derek. _Nothing._ ”

“Stiles…” His dad grumbled. “You might have been gone for a while, but I still know when you’re lying to me.”

Stiles threw his hands up in the air and gave up. “I don’t know. I guess I’m the one being an asshole since he brought my jeep back to the house for me last night.”

“He did?” His dad blinked in surprise, like he was wondering how the hell he didn’t notice that. Stiles knew the feeling.

“Yeah. Probably as an apology. A total _Derek_ way of apologising.”

“Take what you can get.” His dad shrugged, making a move to rise from the bench where they were sitting. Stiles scrambled after him but his dad put a hand on his arm before they went back inside the station. “He’s your friend, Stiles.”

“He’s not really a friend.”

“He’s something.” His dad frowned, squeezing Stiles’ shoulder. “So get over yourself. And get over it. Focus on your research. You don’t want to be distracted when everyone’s life is on the line. That’s an order.”

Oh. Shit just got _serious._ His dad almost never used his Sheriff voice with Stiles.

“I will.” Stiles promised, and let his dad go back to work. He dragged his feet back to his car and slammed his forehead on the steering wheel once he got inside. Collecting himself, he wiggled his phone out of his pocket and sent a text to Derek, sacrificing the last shred of dignity he had.

**Stiles:** _ok fine. you were protecting me, i get it. but i was protecting you too, so at least admit that. so. what i’m trying to say is thanks for bringing my jeep home_

Derek – predictably – didn’t text back.

Once dusk had fallen, Stiles resigned himself to the fact that Derek probably would never text him again. And that was just _fine. Totally_ fine with him. To hell with Derek. He gnawed at his thumbnail and exchanged a few texts back and forth with Lydia about their research, finding nothing substantial yet apart from some half-theories on the internet with a lot of spelling mistakes. Not exactly reliable. He text Scott too, just to make sure him and Malia were okay, which they totally were, but Scott appreciated the thought nonetheless.

Unlike some people. See: Derek I’m A Dick Hale.

So he buried himself in his laptop for a few hours until the moon was high in the night sky, casting a shadow into his bedroom and prompting him to click on his desk lamp. He couldn’t find much about Wendigo nesting habits on the internet, and neither could Lydia. It was becoming tiring, and annoying, reading through pages and pages of some asshole’s theory on some supernatural forum. The only thing he had to go on was that one episode of _Supernatural_ he’d watched where the Wendigo made itself a home inside a mountain cave somewhere. Which, again, wasn’t exactly reliable.

But it was better than nothing. He rolled with the idea, searching for the most secluded places in Beacon Hills he could think of. An abandoned building on the campus of the high school he used to go to – that was a big _nope._ Too many people around during the daytime. A secluded gas station on the edge of town – also a big _nope_ since they’d already infiltrated the nest there and ruined their chance. Some vacant houses scattered around town were another possibility, so he scribbled down the addresses on a piece of paper and shared a picture of them to Lydia.

**Lyds:** _Not bad, Stilinski. But probably not secluded enough. And not nearly creepy enough._

**Stiles:** _it’s better than the absolute zilch that you’ve come up with_

**Lyds:** _Solid evidence takes time, young padawan._

**Stiles:** _you did not._

**Lyds:** _:)_

Stiles put his phone down with a scoff, because like hell was he the padawan and Lydia was the Jedi in this scenario. No way. If anyone was a Jedi, it was Scott. Or Derek, but he digressed. If they _were_ Jedi’s, then things would be a lot simpler. He could just whip out a lightsaber and slice right through that wrinkly Wendigo neck and be done with it.

Stiles found himself distracted by what colour their lightsabers might be. Maybe Derek’s would be blue like his eyes. Striking, piercing, and with the ability of cutting through stone. Sighing, Stiles rested his forehead against his keyboard and closed his eyes.

“Am I interrupting?”

Jolting upright, Stiles spun in his chair towards the offending voice to find Derek standing against the doorway of his bedroom, dressed in his old leather jacket with its ridiculously long sleeves hanging by his sides. He looked amused at Stiles’ shocked expression considering he didn’t think Derek would ever speak to him again. Or scare the life out of him again.

“Hit a dead end?” Derek asked once it became apparent Stiles was too shocked to answer him. He made his way into the room and closed in on Stiles, who flinched automatically expecting a smack upside the head. But Derek just sat down on his bed and looked at him. “What?”

“ _What?_ ” Stiles scoffed, trying to restart his heart. “You scared the crap out of me!”

“Sorry.” Except Derek’s expression made it clear that he wasn’t sorry _at all._

“Oh, for sure. You’re an asshole sometimes, you know that?” Stiles rolled his eyes and sat up straighter to regain some of his pride. “What are you doing here, Derek? Or should I say, what are you doing here _again?_ ”

“I used the front door. You left it unlocked.” Derek told him like he was disappointed in him. Stiles facepalmed. “Not exactly a smart move.”

“You think the Wendigo will try the door and give up just because it’s locked?” Stiles barked back, making Derek smirk. _Ass._ “Because last time I checked, it can just tear a hole in the _wall_ and climb its way in. So, no, I didn’t lock the door. Didn’t see the point.”

“Or you just forgot.”

“ _Or_ you’re just an asshole.”

Derek gave him his trademark smirk in response, prompting Stiles to roll his eyes at the ridiculousness of it all. He really didn’t count on getting a visit from Derek tonight, or at all. Which kind of begged the question, “Why are you here?”

“I accept your apology.” Derek said plainly, sending Stiles into a whirlwind of emotions consisting of mostly anger. “Since you accepted mine.”

“Bringing my jeep back doesn’t count.” Stiles told him. “You need to actually say the _words._ ”

“You haven’t either.”

“Fine!” Stiles threw his hands up in the air and accidentally bumped his laptop. He managed to save it from falling off the side of the desk with a startled gasp. Derek was shaking his head by the time Stiles collected himself. “Whatever. Water under the bridge, dude. It doesn’t matter. Here.” He handed Derek the piece of paper with address sprawled across it in his careless handwriting. “Vacant houses in the area. That’s the best we have right now.”

“Lydia agrees?” Derek asked, eyeing the paper in his hands.

Stiles shook his head. “She thinks they’re not secluded enough.”

“I think she’s right.” Derek agreed, then folded the piece of paper and put it in his jacket pocket anyway. “But I’ll check them out, just to be sure.”

“Alone?” Stiles gaped at the ex-Alpha, who was beginning to look irritated. “I mean, not that you _can’t_ do it on your own. It’s just, you know. We’re a pack for a reason. You don’t need to do everything alone.”

“I’m used to it.” Derek said, and wow that was just the most _miserable_ thing Stiles had ever heard. Derek focused his eyes on the window to his right, zoning out somewhere. Stiles kind of wished he knew what he was thinking.

“Well, get _un-_ used to it.”

“I don’t think that’s a word.”

“It is now.” Stiles protested, finding the courage to stand up from his chair and settle next to Derek. Their knees brushed together as the bed sunk under both of their weight, since Derek probably weighed well over 200 pounds, what, with all the muscle? Who was he trying to impress? “Seriously, dude. This isn’t like it was before. You’re not alone in anything anymore, whether you like it or not. So you’ll just have to get used to it."

Derek turned back and looked at Stiles strangely. “So you’re telling me I can’t get rid of you.”

Stiles felt his eyebrow twitch. “That’s exactly what I’m telling you.”

“Scott doesn’t know what he’s getting himself into.” Derek told him carefully, eyes on Stiles with a serious look on his face. Stiles felt himself falter underneath his gaze. “And he doesn’t know what he’s getting you into. Or Lydia. You’re both human.”

“Well, Lydia isn’t exactly human.” Stiles offered, his voice cracking under the intensity of Derek’s words. “And we can handle ourselves. We’ve made it this far, haven’t we? Only a few broken bones and bruises along the way.”

“You stopped wearing your sling.” Derek’s eyes narrowed pointedly at Stiles’ shoulder.

“It was annoying.” Stiles protested and rolled his shoulder to prove that he was fine, with only a small grimace at the niggle of pain there. Truth be told, he was tired of the perceived weakness that came along with his sling. Like _ha ha, poor human._ “My body’s been through so much that a little dislocated shoulder is close to nothing now. I mean, you know. It’s been through enough.”

Derek took the hint well enough, since Stiles didn’t exactly want to talk about his experience with the nigitsune. Hell, his body count was probably higher than anyone else’s in the pack after all that, and it wasn’t exactly something Stiles wanted to boast about. Even if he wasn’t in control of his own limbs at the time, he still felt responsible. He still felt guilty. But he told himself that was natural, all things considered.

“Scott relies on you a lot.” Derek told him, breaking their eye contact in favour of looking over at Stiles’ laptop. “But you already know that.”

“Well, yeah. Of course I do. He’d be nowhere without me sometimes.” Stiles joked half-heartedly since there was some truth to his words. “He would have probably gotten lost on his way to school if it wasn’t for me."

“I don’t doubt it.”

“Derek,” Stiles started and waited until Derek looked at him again before continuing, “what are you _really_ doing here? You didn’t come all this way to talk shit about Scott with me. _Or_ to accept my apology – the one I didn’t really give, to be fair – so, why are you here?”

Derek eyed him carefully for a moment, just long enough for Stiles to notice the worry lines forming on his forehead and dark circles around his eyes that weren’t there before. Before Derek even got a chance to respond, Stiles blurted out, “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” Derek said with a frown. Stiles wasn’t buying it.

“When was the last time you slept?”

“Last night.” Wow, _liar._ “Why—"

“Because the dark circles around your eyes tell me something different.” Stiles said firmly, prompting Derek to look away and make a move to get up from the bed like he didn’t appreciate the concern. But hell no. Stiles wasn’t having that. They were a pack, and his concern was definitely justified. He grabbed Derek’s elbow and tugged so he wouldn’t get up. Derek looked down at Stiles’ offending hand like it was invading his personal space. Which, okay, technically it was, but needs must.

“Let go.” Derek ordered.

“No.” Stiles tightened his grip on Derek’s elbow, making the ex-Alpha glare at him from where he sat, not even a foot away. “You’re going to tell me what’s going on. And you know I won’t stop asking you until you tell me, so for the sake of your sanity, you should probably just—”

“You mean apart from the Wendigo running around outside?” Derek snapped back, and okay, _point._

“That’s not all it is.” Stiles held Derek’s gaze firmly, determined not to falter. “What’s going on? Is it Braeden?”

“She’s got nothing to do with—”

_…Ha!_ “You twitched. I’m right, aren’t I?”

“I didn’t twitch.”

“Dude, you did. Your eyebrow.” Stiles raised his free hand and poked at Derek’s eyebrow (which was surprisingly soft, not that he’d thought about it before or anything) before realizing what he was doing and freezing in place with his hand in mid-air.

Derek didn’t move and didn’t answer, simply letting him touch his face without reacting. Stiles felt his built-in impending doom detector go off and send him into a stunned panic, unable to move. Oh, man, Derek was going to kill him. Oh, man, he was _so_ dead. He’d pushed too far. He’d—What the hell was he _doing?_

Derek raised his hand and grabbed Stiles’ wrist, pulling it down onto his lap and away from his face with a glare. “What are you doing?”

“Uh.” Stiles said stupidly, suffocating next to him. “Touching you? Apparently.”

“Why?”

“Your eyebrows. I told you. You communicate with them.” Stiles scrambled to collect himself, letting go of Derek’s elbow in favour of trying to claw his wrist back. Derek tightened his hold painfully, making Stiles grimace as he tried to pry his fingers off of him. “Hey—let go. That hurts.”

“Braeden is tracking the desert wolf in South America.” Derek told him, making Stiles halt his feeble attempt at getting his wrist back. Last time he checked – which was admittedly over a year ago now – Derek and Braeden were hunting the desert wolf _together._

“What happened with the two of you?”

“Nothing that matters.” Derek said gloomily, then looked down at Stiles’ hand which was effectively just resting on Derek’s own now. Stiles didn’t dare to move because he didn’t want to _die_ or something – whatever Derek decided to do to him was his own fault anyway. So he kept his hands in place, feeling the heat from Derek’s fingers travel up his arms and settle in his chest like a fever.

“Lydia and me—” Stiles blurted out once it seemed like Derek was about to let him go. “We’re—I guess we’re going through some stuff. Too, I mean. It’s okay, it happens. You know? My dad told me he and mom used to fight all the time. But he said he was better for it—you know, like she taught him a lot of things…” Stiles trailed off, cursing himself and his body for deciding to get choked up _now_ of all times. “That she’s still teaching him, wherever she is.”

Derek looked back up at Stiles then, and Stiles for the life of him couldn’t understand his expression. It was pained, for sure, but there was something else like regret or a deep _sadness_ that he just wanted to wipe away. Derek probably missed his mom too, right? Having lost his entire family in one night – save for his crazy uncle. And his sister, but that was a lot later. Hell, Derek had been through more in one lifetime than Stiles could ever dream of.

Come to think of it, what his dad had said kind of described… Derek and Stiles. In a way, at least. Even if it was a metaphor for him and Lydia, when Stiles thought about it, he and Derek always challenged each other, right? They always argued – sometimes over trivial things – but they always ended up being stronger for it. They always fought together, with or without the pack, and they always came out the other end victorious. Right?

“So, I guess, what I’m trying to say is—” Stiles stammered, scrambling to collect his thoughts. “It’s okay. It’ll be okay. _We’ll_ be okay. All of us.”

After what seemed like an eternity, with Derek looking at him and Stiles feeling like he was about to lose his mind, Derek looked away. He let go of Stiles’ hands and stood up, leaving Stiles a nervous wreck on his bed with his arms suspending in mid-air like a moron.

Wordlessly, Derek opened the window and hopped out without so much as a wave goodbye. Stiles cursed and stood up, darting to the window and watching Derek stalk down the street without looking back. What the _hell?_ That was totally a _moment._ And Derek had just ran away.

How emotionally constipated could one guy _be?_

In a huff, Stiles grabbed his phone from his desk and sent him a text.

**Stiles:** _don’t think you can just run off like that_

To his extreme surprise, a response came less than a minute later.

**Derek:** _I had nothing else to say._

Dick.

**Stiles:** _a simple goodbye would have been polite_

**Derek:** _Goodbye._

Stiles cursed aloud into his room, sinking back down onto his bed with a groan.

**Stiles:** _your social skills need serious work_

**Derek:** _And yours don’t?_

**Stiles:** _definitely not. i mean. where the hell are you going anyway?_

**Derek:** _To check out one of the houses on the list._

Stiles might have had a meltdown right there and then if it hadn’t been for the sound of his dad coming home downstairs, keys jingling in the door. Huh. Maybe that was the reason Derek had high tailed it out of there so fast. Still, not cool, man.

**Stiles:** _alone??? dude what did we talk about???_

**Derek:** _You can come to the next one._

Stiles didn’t go to the next one. He didn’t go to any of them, actually, since Derek managed to check out every single house on the list overnight and report back to Scott in the morning. There was nothing there. Not even a trace a Wendigo had ever been there. So it was back to the drawing board for Lydia and Stiles.

They’d made some headway by the time Scott turned up with Malia and Theo. Lydia had ordered Stiles to come to her house to research with her, as opposed to doing it in Stiles’ pathetic excuse for a bedroom. Lydia’s house was a lot more spacious, and so was her room, with her king-sized bed and frilly curtains. Stiles had been in there before, of course, but it was different this time. He felt like he didn’t belong anymore. And with the stink eye Lydia had been giving him throughout the morning, he figured he definitely didn’t have a place there anymore.

“Derek’s watching Austen’s house tonight.” Theo announced casually, plastered across Lydia’s bed like he owned the place. Lydia ordered him to take off his shoes at least, which he obliged without protest. Because Lydia could be terrifying when she wanted to be. Seriously. _Terrifying_.

“Is that your way of saying you’ve got the night off?” Stiles shot back, making Theo throw a fluffy pink pillow at him. Lydia glowered at them both until they backed down, both sitting politely at the edge of her bed and crossing their arms like two kicked puppies.

“How did Derek even know about the houses?” Malia asked suspiciously like she didn’t exactly trust Derek in the first place. She was wearing that stripy hoodie again, making her look a lot younger than she was.

“Stiles gave him a list.” Lydia explained, shooting Stiles a look. “Against my wishes.”

“Hey, it was better than giving him nothing.” Stiles shot back, and they both glared at each other before Scott cleared his throat.

“Uh, _when_ did you give him the list?” He asked, staring at Stiles suspiciously. And, shit. Busted.

“Last night. He stopped by.”

“ _Why_ did he stop by?”

“Do I look like his keeper?” Stiles waved his arms like he wanted to take off and fly away from the situation. Theo snickered beside him. “Because last time I checked, that was _you._ ”

“And you gave him the list before telling me about it?”

Oh, shit. “Uh.”

“I told you.” Lydia said, looking tired of the bickering between them. She typed something on her laptop and the printer went off, a few pages scattered with ink shooting out. “It was a bad idea. You should have told Scott first.”

“Yeah, you should have.” Scott agreed, making Stiles cower in on himself at his major screw up. Scott was definitely readying himself to give him an earful after this, and all he had to do was listen, really. Nothing else he could do. What was done was done. No going back now. He just hoped Derek would also hear about it because, like, he didn’t _ask_ Derek to stop by. He just did. And…well, whatever.

“Here’s what we could come up with.” Lydia announced, standing up and offering the newly printed papers to Scott. The Alpha looked down at them with a scowl and scanned the pages. “I know some of them sound far-fetched, but let’s face it: Beacon Hills doesn’t exactly have a lot of hideaways.”

“The old school building?” Scott looked up at Lydia. “Seriously?”

“Stiles’ idea.”

With all eyes on him, Stiles made a face. “Hey, I like to be thorough. I couldn’t leave it out just because it seemed unlikely.”

“We’ll check it out all the same.” Malia told him, but it was suspicious since she was almost never on Stiles’ side anymore. He found himself narrowing his eyes at her. “What? Your ideas always get us somewhere.”

“Don’t forget it.” Stiles said, knowingly full well that she would, in fact, forget it.

“Is there any kind of order to these?” Scott asked Lydia, who shook her head, her hair flowing lazily around her face. “Okay, I guess we’ll just go with the way you’ve written them down. I want to keep the rest of them out of it as much as I can. They can’t afford to miss any more of their senior year.”

“He means you, too.” Stiles nudged Theo in the ribs, prompting the werewolf to bare his teeth at him.

“I’ll probably end up having to repeat a year as it stands, anyway.” Theo barked back, then looked up at Scott apologetically. “Oh. I forgot to tell you that, didn’t I?”

“You did.” Scott started frowning, and Stiles knew his friend was feeling responsible for it. Rightfully so to some extent, at least. But Theo was in charge of his own life at the end of the day, except when there was a full moon. “Based on what?”

Theo shrugged. “Attendance, behaviour, grades. You want a list?”

“No.” Scott sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. Malia moved forward and grabbed Theo by the arm, tugging him to his feet just to punch him on the shoulder.

“You moron. High school is important.” She barked. “More important than being a werewolf. You might think you’re above it all, but you aren’t. And you’re getting an education whether you like it or not. Otherwise, well, don’t let the door jam your tail on your way outta here.”

Theo’s eyes went wide at the end of that, looking at Scott for help like he couldn’t believe his place in the pack was up for debate. Stiles knew it wasn’t really – but what Theo didn’t know wouldn’t kill him. Well, hopefully not. “Is she serious?”

“Yes.” Scott lied easily since being an Alpha gave him the ability to lie to his own beta. Stiles felt himself wondering if he’d ever been lied to. Which was a stupid, stupid question. “Go home. Do your homework. Don’t let me see you around again until the next full moon.”

“But, I—I wanna help.”

“You’ve helped enough.” Scott said. “Now, get out of here.”

Theo looked like he was about to pop a vein in his neck by the time he gathered himself back together, picked up his pride and scurried out the door. Lydia’s hand brushed over his shoulder as he went, like she could sense how upset he was. Stiles wondered if she’d ever show him the same tenderness again.

“What’s the plan, boss man?” Lydia asked once Theo was out of ear-range, tucking her hair behind her ears.

Stiles snorted, unable to help himself. “That rhymed.”

“Well done.” Lydia sighed at him, reminding him of Derek. Stiles had no luck with either of them. Why’d he agree to come back again?

“We have to kill this thing.” Oh, yeah, that was the reason. Scott turned to Malia and furrowed his brow. “Check out the quarry just at the edge of town, there’s bound to be a few shipping containers over there. Take Lydia with you.”

Malia didn’t need to be told twice, and her and Lydia sashayed out of the room with a spring in their step. Finally, a plan. Or half of one. It was better than some of Scott’s plans in the past.

“What am I doing?” Stiles asked.

“You’re coming with me.” Scott grunted, shoving the paper into his pocket and cracking his knuckles. Uh, yikes. “We’re going to your old bookstore. It’s been vacant for over six months now. I’ll drive.”

Stiles stumbled after his friend down the stairs of Lydia’s freaking mansion of a house and clambered out the door. Scott apparently wasn’t keen on waiting for him, which was fine, because it gave Stiles an extra couple of seconds to figure out how the hell he was going to explain himself. Explain why the _hell_ Derek kept seeking him out all of a sudden, and what the hell their conversation was about last night.

“You smell like him.” Scott said as soon as Stiles got into the car, narrowing his eyes and turning the key in the ignition. “All the time recently.”

Stiles sniffed at himself self-consciously, but nope, only laundry detergent and toothpaste. Scott’s werewolf nose obviously knew more. “Well, I’ve been around him. Isn’t that normal?”

“No.” Scott grunted as he turned around in his seat to reverse out of the driveway. “It’s not like—it’s not as if you’ve just been sharing the same space. It’s stronger than that.”

“Well, how the hell am I supposed to know? You’re the werewolf.”

“You’re right. I _am_ a werewolf.” Scott told him, taking off down the street. Stiles felt like saying stating the obvious would get them nowhere. “So I can tell when you’re lying to me.”

Oh. Okay, yeah that was definitely a problem and a problem Stiles hadn’t considered. He did, however, consider sitting on his hands to somehow mask whatever Scott could smell from him. No doubt his hands would smell like Derek – since, _hey,_ they held hands for a full five minutes last night. Well, not like _that._ But basically.

Stiles felt his stomach do a backflip at the thought. Scott definitely noticed it.

“What’s going on with you two?”

“You’re starting to sound like a broken record there, Scotty.”

“I would have to if you’d just answer me!” Scott snarled and Stiles flinched. His friend caught himself immediately and relaxed his shoulders, flexing his hands around the wheel. “Sorry. It’s just… annoying, for lack of a better word. And weird. And I’m not the only one who’s noticed it.”

“Oh.” Was all Stiles could muster up. Scott shook his head and looked at Stiles with big sad puppy eyes. _Jesus._

“Malia, Lydia… they both asked me about it.”

_What?_ “Since when can Lydia recognise scents?”

“She can’t. But she isn’t stupid, and she saw the way you looked at each other at the loft yesterday.” Scott offered but he didn’t sound too pleased about it. Stiles hadn’t been aware he was looking at Derek _at all,_ since he’d pointedly tried to avoid him ever since their big argument. Obviously he’d failed miserably at that.

“I guess my master plan of totally avoiding looking at him failed then.” Stiles admitted with a sigh and looked out the window. Then Scott cleared his throat awkwardly and made Stiles look back at him questioningly. “What?”

“It wasn’t just you.” Scott said. “He was staring at you, too. And he was listening to your heartbeat like… I don’t know. He was doing it since you arrived. Even when I tried to talk to you at the door, he was doing it. It was like he was monitoring you. Why would he be doing that?”

“I don’t know.” Stiles offered, doing his best to hide his embarrassment. “Maybe because he was trying to work out if I’d forgive him for being a total asswipe the other night?”

Scott shook his head again and accelerated, making Stiles grip onto the seat. “No. That’s not it. We all knew you’d forgive him.”

“Huh?” Stiles flailed his arms around and almost slapped Scott’s arm in the process. “How?”

“You’re a pushover at the best of times.”

“I’m _not!_ I am totally not a pushover.”

“You kind of are.”

“Well, maybe, I mean…” Stiles trailed off in thought, but when Scott started smirking he realised he’d been caught in some kind of mind game. “Very funny. So maybe I am, so what? Why should I stay mad at my own pack?”

“We’re all part of your pack, Stiles. Not just Derek.”

“What the hell’s that supposed to mean?” Stiles scoffed. “Are you thinking I’m gonna run off with him or something? Because, let me tell you, that’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard and…” Oh, okay. Scott _really did_ think that. Oh, man, and Stiles had just thought this was about him being jealous at him and Derek hanging out. He really thought Stiles would just leave him and run away? “Are you serious right now? That’s what this is about?”

Scott did his best to hide his concern but Stiles had known him for far too long to see past his expression. “It’s not all it’s about…”

“Of all the _stupid_ things you’ve ever thought – and that’s a _lot_ of things, Scott – why would you—”

“Because I see how you look at him. I can smell him on you, Stiles. I’m not an idiot.” Scott told him, effectively silencing Stiles’ outburst at the shock of his words. “So, do us both a favour and tell me what’s going on. Right now.”

“I don’t… really know how to answer that.” Stiles managed and it was the truth. He didn’t know what was going on at the best of times, and certainly not with Derek. He didn’t know why he’d felt compelled to text him while he was away, and he definitely didn’t know why Derek had text him back. Or why Derek was the way he was.

“Try.” Scott said firmly, easing up on the speed a bit like he realised he wasn’t driving a race car. Stiles was thankful for it all the same since he didn’t exactly need another thing raising his heart rate.

So, he thought about it. He liked Derek, sure, but were they friends? Probably not. So what even were they? The better question was what did he _want_ them to be?

“I don’t know.” Stiles tried again, knowing full well Scott would be able to sense his inner turmoil anyway. “I like having him around. And he talked to me when I was away, which is a lot more than I can say for you, Scott. But that’s not the point – the point is. I mean. I don’t know what the point is.” He rubbed a hand over his face to try collect himself. “He’s an asshole. And he’s annoying and overbearing. And a hundred other things. But I’m not going to turn him away if he comes to me, Scott. That’s just not how it works between us.”

“When he comes to you?” Scott asked quietly after a moment of deliberation, like he was trying to digest Stiles’ words. Stiles, meanwhile, was dangerously close to having a panic attack in the passenger seat. “How _does_ it work between you?”

“It just—it just _works,_ Scott. He comes over, I give him information, he calls me an idiot and then he leaves. That’s it.”

That totally wasn’t it.

“That’s not it.” _Damn._ “You’re lying to me. Again.”

Stiles couldn’t really say anything else. He definitely wasn’t about to mention the semi-personal exchange between him and Derek last night about their apparent relationship issues. Something Stiles hadn’t even talked to Scott about yet, at least not in so much detail. And he’d freaking _touched Derek’s face_ and Derek had _let him._ And Stiles still had all ten fingers. So…what did it mean? What did Stiles _want_ it to mean, anyway?

God, he was never going to be able to look Derek in the eye again after this.

Scott accepted the silence all the way to the bookstore. It was nearing late afternoon when he finally cut the engine outside – parking outside? Really? Way to be discreet, Scott. But Stiles didn’t voice his reservations because he wasn’t about to add another layer of awkward to the situation between them. Scott had other plans apparently, sighing as he unbuckled his seatbelt and looked over at Stiles.

“There’s a lot about being a werewolf that you don’t understand.” Scott said.

“What a weird way to kick me whilst I’m down.”

“I didn’t mean it like that.” Scott sighed and got out the car, prompting Stiles to do the same. They engaged in a super intense and only somewhat hilarious staring contest across the roof of the car before Scott spoke again. “I just meant you don’t know how this scenting stuff works.”

“So tell me.” Stiles offered, leaning against the car with a raised eyebrow. Scott looked away towards the bookstore. There were a few people passing by – presumably on their way home from work back to their normal lives without werewolves and Wendigos.

“I can tell you’ve been with Lydia all afternoon. And I know you were with your dad at some point, I guess this morning?” Scott looked over at Stiles. “But Derek’s scent overpowers them all. So unless you lied to me – again, not ruling that out – then… well, that’s it. You lied to me. You’re still lying to me.”

“I’m not going to break away from the pack and go with Derek, Scott.” Stiles said firmly, pushing himself off the car and turning his back to his friend. “It’s pretty offensive you’d even think that after everything I’ve done for you.”

“Well, what else am I supposed to think, Stiles?” Scott asked behind him, sounding frustrated. “It’s the only logical conclusion to make. Any other reason seems so far out of the realm of possibility.”

“Even farther than me betraying you?” Stiles barked, turning his head to give Scott a side-eye. “Can’t wait to hear this.”

Scott tucked his keys into his pocket with an aggravated sigh as if he really didn’t want the conversation to turn out like this. “Look, I wouldn’t be mad, okay? I mean, it’d be weird, but I wouldn’t be mad. It’d actually explain a lot.”

“What the hell are you talking about, Scott?”

“If you… I mean, if you _want_ Derek.” Scott stumbled over himself. “Or if he wants you. If that’s what you don’t want to tell me.”

What. The. _Hell._ “What?”

“Well, do you?”

“No!” Stiles spun around and threw his arms up in the air automatically at Scott, who looked bewildered by his reaction. “Why would I want that?”

“It’s just, your scent… you know.”

“No I definitely _do not know!_ ”

And Stiles didn’t know. He wouldn’t even consider Derek as a friend, never mind a…he couldn’t even think about. Because no way he’d be able to get with someone like that. With the muscles and the face, and those _eyebrows,_ god, Derek looked like he’d been carved out of marble.

…Okay. That was new. Derek was attractive – a fact that Stiles painfully acknowledged – but was he _attracted_ to Derek? Yes, plainly. But that didn’t mean he _wanted to be with him._

Did it?

“What other explanation is there?” Scott barked back. “Stiles, how long have we been best friends? A long time. I _know_ you. I know when you’re worked up about something. And you were really worked up over the argument you had with Derek. Why?”

“Because I didn’t want him to die?” Stiles snapped back like it was obvious. No, he hadn’t wanted Derek to get torn apart and eaten. Of course he didn’t. He’d even held onto him to get him to run. Derek had held onto him too. Come to think of it, he and Derek touched a lot, didn’t they? “Because I didn’t want to die either.”

“I know you didn’t. But you were so adamant you were protecting him like you couldn’t bear the idea.”

“Well, obviously. He’s pack. I wasn’t about to let him sacrifice himself to save me. That just wasn’t going to fly.”

“He was ready to sacrifice himself to protect you.” Scott stated like he was making it simple for Stiles. He made his way round the car and stood in front of Stiles until he looked up at him. “Just like I would do it for Malia.”

Wait a minute. “Are you trying to tell me that Derek wants _me?_ ”

Scott hesitated. “I don’t know. He’s kind of—he’s good at hiding his emotions from me. I guess he learned it from being an Alpha, or maybe it’s a born-a-werewolf thing, I don’t know, he probably—”

“Scott.”

“Right. Okay, well, it’d make sense.” Scott finalised, putting a hand on Stiles’ shoulder comfort him. “I mean, the only problem is him and Braeden. And you and Lydia.”

“We both know Lydia is going to cut me loose the second this is over. And I deserve it.” Stiles admitted with a sigh. “And Derek isn’t with Braeden anymore.”

“He’s not?” Scott looked surprised. “How do you know that?” Stiles looked at him pointedly, and Scott narrowed his eyes. “Right. He told you that, of course he did.”

“He didn’t have to. I could tell.”

“ _How_ exactly?”

Stiles sighed and pushed Scott’s hand off his shoulder. “I just could. I don’t know.”

“See, that’s what I mean. You’re connected to him in some way. That might explain why he keeps turning up at your place.” Scott said, looking back towards the bookstore. “Maybe he feels it too.”

“Scott, what the hell are you talking about? Feels _what?_ ”

“Derek’s a lot better at scenting than I am, Stiles.” Scott said. “If I can smell your arousal, he definitely can.”

If Stiles’ face got any redder, he was pretty sure he’d just shapeshift into a tomato in the middle of the parking lot. “ _What_ arousal, exactly?”

“Towards Derek.”

“I don’t—I’m not—” Stiles couldn’t find the words anymore. This conversation had sped past horrifying a long time ago and landed right in uncharted territory. Horrifying uncharted territory.

Okay, so he’d established his attraction to Derek – something he wasn’t about to act on because he valued his limbs intact – and he was slowly coming to terms with some _feelings_ he was having for Derek – also something he wasn’t about to act on because he wanted to remain in the land of the living. But that didn’t mean anything.

There was no way he was getting out of this alive. Suddenly Wendigo’s seemed like the least threatening thing on the planet.

Scott, choosing to ignore how he’d basically just turned Stiles’ world upside down, cleared his throat. “Come on. We can finish talking about this later. Duty calls.”

And Stiles had no choice but to follow Scott inside, helping him pick the lock on the door.

They didn’t find anything. Not that Stiles had been really paying attention, too concerned with his new _am I gay?_ crisis which Scott had accidentally thrown him into. Scott had taken the lead but the bookstore had been empty, with nothing but a few tattered books covered in dust left behind on the shelves. Stiles remembered it when it was full of people and quiet chatter – a simpler time. Nothing like it was now, a ghost of Stiles’ past came back to haunt him.

Scott sniffed around a bit – literally – before they left to see if he could find any scent of the Wendigo. After a good half an hour, and when Stiles was sure his friend’s nose might fall off, he called it quits. Stiles had picked up a weird relic laying on the counter before he left because he knew he’d seen it before somewhere. Scott sniffed it before they left to make sure it was safe, of course, and Stiles had shoved it into his pocket.

It was nothing really. Not even a relic, actually, just a torn piece of fabric with a pattern he thought looked familiar. But he couldn’t exactly place it. It was really annoying him for a while before he eventually ended up tossing it on his desk when he got home and called himself stupid. He was just looking for a distraction, anyway. His mind was searching for something, _anything,_ to keep his thoughts away from Derek.

Which worked for a good few hours. Until Scott dropped him off and Stiles was left sitting alone in his bedroom contemplating his life choices.

So…tonight hadn’t exactly played out how he’d expected it to. And he couldn’t take his mind off of Derek. God, if Derek sensed Stiles was into him he’d surely rip his throat out with his teeth like he’d threatened to do before. That felt like so long ago now – which he supposed it was – and he felt like he was a different person now. High school was a distant memory and Stiles had changed a lot, matured a lot… well, matured a _little._ His ADHD ridden brain basically prevented any vast changes in his maturity levels.

Which totally wasn’t the point anyway. So, after Scott’s badgering, Stiles had realised that he _did_ feel something for Derek. It was hidden deep down but it was there, now spilling to the surface and making him feel like he was drowning. Like he couldn’t escape. Not like any of it mattered anyway because he wasn’t about to do anything about it.

Derek wouldn’t give him the chance anyway.

But then… Scott had said Derek would be able to smell it on him. And if he could, why would he still seek Stiles out? Or maybe Derek was completely oblivious to it. Unlikely, but Stiles could only hope that was the case. Why else would he still be alive at this point?

His phone buzzed about an hour after he got home, and he really, _really_ hoped it wasn’t Derek. Thankfully, it wasn’t.

**Scott:** _I’m sorry about tonight, I just wanted you to tell me the truth_

**Stiles:** _you were thinking i was gonna break off from the pack and run away with another alpha. not cool_

**Scott:** _I’m happy it’s not like that, I should never have doubted you_

Stiles shook his head. _Duh._

**Stiles:** _yeah because the real reason you were annoyed is so much better_

**Scott:** _You don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to, you still have Lydia_

**Stiles:** _not for long. we both know she’s too good for me anyway. always has been_

**Scott:** _Do you want me to talk to Derek?_

**Stiles:** _NO. and don’t type his name again in case i have to hide the evidence_

**Scott:** _You’re an idiot, but okay, I’ll support you whatever you decide_

Stiles turned his phone off after that because he didn’t want to talk about it anymore. He just wanted to go to sleep and hoped when he woke up it’ll have all been a dream. But when he woke up in the morning, the feelings were still there, and they were _worse._

And he was so totally _screwed._

_tbc_


	4. Déjà Pensé

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Chapter Title translation:** Déjà Pensé - Already Thought (lit.), a psychiatric term meaning a new thought which sounds familiar to a person as if they've thought the same thing before at some time. 
> 
> **Warnings:** Some semi-graphic descriptions of blood and violence

“Nothing. Nadda. Zilch.” Lydia exclaimed in frustration, plopping herself down onto Scott’s sofa with a huff. “What a boring night.”

“Thanks.” Malia said flatly, looking like she’d absolutely had the time of her life last night sitting in a car with Lydia. “Remind me never to take you anywhere ever again.”

“You will.” Lydia said easily, looking at her nails like she was more interested in them that whatever the wolf had to say. “Who else is going to give you tips on how to deal with those bushes you call eyebrows?”

Malia started snarling and Stiles choked out a startled laugh because he totally hadn’t expected that. He gurgled his soda and some came out of his nose and dripped down onto his shirt. He patted himself down, embarrassed by the look Lydia was giving him.

“Attractive.” Lydia commented, making Stiles shoot her a look and put his can back onto the coffee table – something Scott had bought once he’d gotten tired of everyone complaining about his lack of furniture and imagination when it came to decorating.

“Totally irresistible.” Malia agreed. Stiles felt like stomping off before Scott made his way back into the loft with Derek in tow. Stiles immediately focused on Scott and did his best to ignore the way his heart was _absolutely not_ hammering inside his chest at the sight of Derek.

“Nothing at Austen’s house.” Derek announced once he’d untied his boots and set them down neatly by the front door. Scott toed off his shoes messily and made his way over to Malia.

“You okay?”

“We’re fine.” Malia said, then looked over at Lydia. “For now.”

“Oh, bite me.” Lydia shot back, and it looked like Malia actually considered it for a second before Scott shook his head.

“There’s still a few more places on the list.” He said, glancing back at Derek who was still hovering by the doorway like he didn’t really want to come any further. Stiles pointedly didn’t look at him, doing his best to hide his emotions (which were freaking all over the place). “We’ll hit them tonight and hopefully find something. If not, then we have to assume the Wendigo’s nest is outside of town.”

“It’s possible.” Lydia mused from where she sat, angling herself (intentionally?) away from Stiles. “It could be in the woods somewhere. There’s a lot of open territory out there.”

“It’s been over a week since the last kill, and nearly five days since Kate Austen went missing.” Stiles commented, looking up at Scott. “How many people is it going to kill before it disappears again?”

“Probably a lot more.” Derek answered him, and Stiles automatically looked over without thinking. Which was a mistake since Derek looked like he was trying to burn a hole through his head. “We’re running out of time.”

“It’s only active at night.” Malia told them, and Stiles was thankful for the excuse to look at her instead of the freaking 200 pounds of pure ex-Alpha standing by the doorway. “Which means our only chance is catching it in the act if we don’t find the nest soon.”

“You’re not suggesting what I’m thinking you’re suggesting, are you?” Stiles gaped up at her.

“No.” Scott and Derek said in unison. They glanced at one another briefly after, like they were trying to decide who had the most authority. The answer was Scott, obviously. “We’re not setting bait.”

“You know it’s our best chance.” Malia protested. “And it’s the only way to draw it out.”

“How exactly do you plan on doing that?” Lydia asked. “When we don’t even know where it is, or where it’ll strike next.”

Stiles felt himself frowning because she had a point. There was no use in offering one of them up as bait if they didn’t know where it’d be. “What about Austen’s house? It’s been there before, and it’s struck there before.”

“What about it?” Scott asked, curious. “You think it’d go back there?”

“Well, it already got itself a great meal there the first time.” Stiles said. “And you always go back to restaurants you like.”

“That’s not funny.” Lydia said huffily, but ended up shaking her head and smirking at Stiles.

“You know what I mean. We have to assume it’ll go back there, otherwise offering me up as bait is stupid.”

“Who said it’d be you?” Malia asked with an evil look in her eye.

“It’s _always_ me.”

“I’ll do it.” Derek announced from where he stood, then sauntered further into the room with a look on his face like he’d bit into a lemon. “It’s come after me before.”

“Uh.” Stiles, against his better judgement, challenged Derek at that before he could even think about it. “I don’t _think_ so. Who’s to say it wasn’t after me? Maybe it doesn’t like werewolf meat. Too stringy.”

Derek sighed. Lydia sighed. Scott shook his head.

“I’m bigger than you.” Derek said, stating the obvious. “I’m more appealing.” Wow, kick me when I’m down, why don’t you? “And obviously I’d be more filling.”

“There’s no _way—”_

“Okay.” Scott interrupted, looking over at Derek who had his arms folded across his chest. “We’ll do it tonight. Sneak into their back yard and wait. We’ll be close by if it comes.”

“Scott?” Stiles barked, rising to his feet and glaring at his soon to be ex-best friend. “Are you serious? Because it didn’t work out so well the first time! What if he gets eaten, huh? What if—”

“I’m not going to get eaten, Stiles.” Derek said flatly. Stiles whipped his body around to glare at him instead, but Derek remained impassive.

“Oh _really?_ Didn’t you just give a huge speech on how mouth-watering you are?” …And that was out of Stiles’ mouth before he could control it.

Derek’s eyebrow twitched but otherwise he didn’t react, deadpanning at his outburst. Stiles cleared his throat and looked around himself at the others. Malia was grimacing, but Lydia and Scott were both looking at him with wide eyes.

“What? You heard him! He’s exactly what the Wendigo is after.”

“That’s exactly why I’m going to be bait.” Derek stated. “Keep up.”

“Oh, screw you.” Stiles huffed and sunk back onto the sofa with a scowl on his face.

“We’ll be there to protect him.” Scott reassured him from where he stood, a silent communication between them. Stiles looked up at him hopelessly. “And Lydia will come too. She’ll warn us before anything happens.”

“I will.” Lydia touched Stiles’ elbow gently, making him jolt in surprise. “Don’t worry so much. Have a little faith in your pack, for god’s sake.”

“As much as your concern for Derek is…endearing,” Malia said, the grimace still on her face like it was now her permanent expression whenever Stiles was present, “it’s unnecessary.”

Stiles huffed at her in response because obviously nobody was about to listen to the only human in the room. Derek wasn’t about to change his mind just because Stiles wasn’t happy with the plan _clearly._ He just stood there in his short-sleeved t-shirt looking like he’d walked right of an underwear model photo shoot somewhere, god damnit.

This was becoming a serious problem.

The plan sounded simple enough. Derek would situate himself in the Austen’s back yard – they wouldn’t be home, since Lydia had _somehow_ convinced her parents to invite them over for dinner to console them or whatever – and the rest of the pack would be close-by. Close enough to see the action, but far away enough that the Wendigo wouldn’t catch their scent. Lydia’s house wasn’t too far away so she had a good vantage point from the dinner table, able to warn the others if Derek was about to be mauled to death.

And Stiles? Well, after a _lot_ of arguing with Scott and Malia, he was locked in his bedroom by his own father once he was let in on the little plan. His dad was a patient guy but when it came to his only son’s safety, that patience flew out the window and he simply wasn’t having Stiles’ protests that he could _totally help_ without being torn to pieces. And since when was there a lock on his bedroom door anyway? That would have really come in handy when he was a teenager – when members of the Hale pack used to stumble through his window, broken and bruised and bleeding out all over his carpet.

Ah, the good ol’ days.

“It’ll be fine.” Scott told him for the hundredth time that night. Stiles still wasn’t convinced, no matter how hard Scott tried to ease his nerves. His mind was reeling. Not only for Derek’s safety but for the fact that he’d been deemed useless and been told to stay away. “Stiles, seriously. Nothing bad is going to happen. We don’t even know if the Wendigo will take the bait.”

“Oh yeah, because we’ll just be that lucky, right?” Stiles protested, pacing around his prison of a bedroom. Scott was standing by the window where he’d let himself in once the Sheriff had retreated downstairs with his gun locked and loaded. “We’ve never had luck before. Why start now?”

“We made it this far.” Scott pointed out. “And keep your voice down. You’re lucky your dad didn’t fly you back to the academy by now. If he finds out I just let myself in as easy as this, he’ll probably nail your window shut.”

Stiles didn’t stop pacing but managed to collect himself. Scott was right, and he really didn’t like the idea of having bars put on his windows in the near future. Then he’d _really_ feel like a prisoner, even if his dad was just being an overly concerned parent. He couldn’t blame him, really, not after everything he’d been through.

“I’ll protect Derek.” Scott continued once it was clear Stiles has resigned himself to the fact that he’d be missing out on the final showdown. “Don’t worry so much.”

Stiles shot him a look and stopped pacing. “Danger follows that dude everywhere he goes, man.”

“It follows all of us. A side effect of being a werewolf, I guess.”

“A side effect of being _affiliated_ with werewolves, too.”

“Which is exactly why you’re staying here.” Scott ordered as he straightened his back and looked towards the window. “I’d better get going. It’s almost time.”

“Scott…” Stiles trailed off and watched as his friend slid the window up and began climbing out. “Be careful. All of you.”

“I will be.”

And then he was gone and Stiles was alone. He looked out his window after his friend but predictably couldn’t find a single trace of him anywhere. Stupid werewolves. And stupid humans, since Stiles was one of them. Weak and human – and viewed as a liability. He’d thought Scott might have let him help, but after the whole _dude, you’re totally gay for Derek_ conversation they’d had, Scott had been reluctant to let him attend at all. He probably figured he’d do something stupid and end up getting himself killed.

Which totally wouldn’t happen.

Stiles wasn’t stupid. At least, not entirely. And he definitely wasn’t stupid when it came to protecting the pack. Or protecting Derek. Whichever came first.

After half an hour, he was losing it. He pounded on his bedroom door and yelled, “Hey, I have to pee!”

“Not falling for it!” His dad yelled from downstairs, sounding disgruntled. Stiles sighed and gave up with a loud groan so his dad would hear how _not okay_ this situation was. His dad didn’t even laugh in response which showed how tense he was. Worried, Stiles sunk down onto his bed and put his face in his hands.

The Wendigo could be there right now. They could be fighting it whilst Stiles was just sitting there like a loose end. Derek could be getting his spine ripped out any second now. Stiles felt himself wince as a sharp pain shot through his chest and travelled through his shoulder blades at even the _thought_ of Derek dying. He wasn’t about to stick around and wait for it to become a reality.

He grabbed his sweater from the back of his desk chair and threw it on before _quietly_ opening his window and slipping out. His feet collided with the tiles of the roof and he slipped instantly, flailing to grab back onto the window. He managed to adjust himself and leap off the side of the building without a scratch on him. He gave himself a moment to fist bump into the sky before taking off running down the street.

His dad would forgive him. Eventually.

He didn’t bother taking his jeep for two reasons: one, his dad would definitely notice it being gone and go after him and two, he didn’t need the Wendigo getting spooked by the headlights and you know, maybe, accidentally ripping Scott’s throat out or something as it tried to get away.

So he went on foot. He sprinted through the streets long enough to become a sweaty panting mess by the time he reached Lydia’s house. The curtains were open downstairs, just enough for Stiles to spy his girlfriend sitting at the dinner table looking nervous. Her parents were next to her, and presumably Kate Austen’s parents were across from them, poking gloomily at the food on their plates.

None of them looked panicked. Which meant Lydia hadn’t screeched her lungs out yet. There was still time, then. Stiles snuck around the front fence so Lydia wouldn’t spot him, and half-jogged to Austen’s house. He didn’t exactly have a plan for what to do once he got there, but he figured he’d work that out once he saw the Wendigo.

His planning skills were on par with Scott’s. Which wasn’t a good thing.

The lights were off in Austen’s house, making it look a lot scarier than it truly was. Or maybe that was because there could possibly be a creature of the night in its back yard. _Multiple_ creatures of the night really, but only one that was threatening.

That’s when he heard the growling. A low and dangerous rumble coming from the back yard – multiple growls echoing through the night. Jackpot.

He hopped the fence in the front yard and made his way to the back, plastering himself against the side wall of the house and sliding round until he could peek at the back yard from a safe location.

Scott and Malia were laying on the ground, the woman on top of a crumpled heap of broken bits of wood of what presumably used to be a dog kennel. Scott was rolling onto his front with a pained groan but still managing to bare his teeth at the sky.

But it wasn’t at the sky, because when Stiles’ followed his gaze, he saw the Wendigo. Tall and thin and ugly, with scaly skin and claws-for-hands. Claws that were currently _wrapped around Derek’s throat._

It was holding Derek up like it was nothing. Derek clawed at its wrist and growled, but it sounded strangled. Stiles’ eyes widened at the sight. The Wendigo tightened its grip around Derek’s neck and Derek went limp in its hold.

Stiles snapped. He had to _do_ something. Adrenaline flooded through his veins and he threw himself out of cover and yelled at the top of his lungs, “Hey, bonehead!”

There was a long second where nothing happened and nobody moved.

It wasn’t until Stiles picked up a few loose stones from the grass and started hurling them at the Wendigo that the ball started rolling. A rock hit the Wendigo on the top of the head – _nice –_ and it twisted its neck a full one-eighty degrees to screech at the contact.

Then everything happened at once.

It threw Derek to the side like an afterthought and Stiles watched as his body crashed through the house, sending shattered pieces of wood around the yard. Then it started charging at Stiles with its claws raised in the air.

Stiles panicked, expectedly, and started backing up with wide eyes. He fell onto his back and started crawling like a crab backwards, but the Wendigo was too fast, it was going to get to him before he could escape, with its ugly witch nose and drooling mouth, it was going to—

It stumbled backwards with a pained noise and swivelled around in a circle. Scott had jumped on its back and dug his claws in deep into its shoulder blades. Malia scrambled to get out of the wreckage, then pounced on its front. They wrestled with it until it fell to his knees with a loud crash. Malia roared in anger and ripped its throat out with her teeth. Blood shot out in all directions, and some other disgusting gooey liquid stained the grass below them.

Scott finished it off, sinking his teeth into the back of its neck and twisting. The sound of the Wendigo’s head being torn from its shoulders was nauseating, and Stiles would have gagged if he hadn’t been flushed full of adrenaline. He lay a panting, shaking mess with his back plastered to the wet grass beneath him.

Scott roared into the night like he was announcing it was over. Stiles crawled to his feet shakily and watched as Malia dragged the corpse off, crashing through the back fence without any consideration of destruction to property.

…Property. House. Wrecked.

_Derek._

Stiles made a move to sprint forward, but a noise from inside the house made him halt. There was a loud clatter like someone had broken a lot of plates or something before Derek was climbing out of the body-shaped hole in the wall with a grimace. His jacket had seriously seen better days, all tattered and ripped at the bottom. There was blood plastered to his neck and forehead, and his hair was covered in loose bits of concrete.

And he looked _pissed._

Stiles didn’t care because Derek was _alive._

He shot forward without thinking right into the battlefield, totally ignoring the disapproving look Scott was giving him. But he’d distracted the Wendigo at the right time and Scott knew it, so he hadn’t voiced his concerns. Especially when he was too busy spitting out torn pieces of flesh from his teeth.

Derek had shifted back to human but it didn’t make him look any less intimidating. He bared his teeth at Stiles and snarled.

“Stiles, what the _hell_ are you doing here?”

Stiles didn’t care.

He sprinted forward and collided with Derek, slamming into him with such force that he actually stumbled back. Stiles threw his arms around Derek’s torso and squeezed because he was _alive._ And here was _there,_ and Stiles was probably never going to let go ever again. He didn’t care about the implications of it at all, he didn’t care about anything except Derek’s body strong against him. He squeezed his eyes closed and buried his face into Derek’s chest and held on.

Derek didn’t really react at first. He stood like a statue and let Stiles cling onto him, let him fist his hands into the torn fabric of his jacket. Eventually, the tension fizzled slowly out of Derek’s shoulders and back and he relaxed, and Stiles felt it. He let out a heavy sigh against Stiles and put his hands on his shoulders to push him back, just enough to look at him and not enough to make him let go.

“You could have died.” Derek told him carefully, his eyes glowing blue. Stiles felt like drowning in them, realising he was getting choked up. Derek furrowed his brow at the tears forming in the corners of his eyes.

“I didn’t. _You_ didn’t.” Stiles managed with his hands resting on Derek’s hips. “Thanks to me.”

“That was unbelievably stupid—”

“Dude. Learn how to say thank you and be done with it.” Stiles shot back, momentarily realising what the hell he was doing. Way to go, Stiles, what a great way to let Derek know you’re totally _not_ interested in him at all. If the Wendigo didn’t kill him, Derek was sure going to.

“Thank you.” Derek said through gritted teeth, but ended up squeezing Stiles’ shoulders when he tried to pull away and holding him closer. And Stiles raised an eyebrow at him because, like, _what?_ Derek was just _letting_ him touch him. _Again._

Did he actually have a chance here?

“It’s over.” Scott interrupted them suddenly, Malia standing next to him with a curious look on her face and only looking a little terrifying covered in blood. “For tonight.”

“It’s a different one.” Malia said, eyes flicking between Stiles and Derek who were still half embracing. “The scent is different. It wasn’t the same one that attacked us before.”

Once Derek let go of his shoulders, Stiles let his arms drop to his sides awkwardly. Malia eyed him suspiciously. “Want to tell us what the hell you’re doing here, Stilinski?”

“Saving your asses?” Stiles shot back, watching as Derek side-stepped away from him with his eyes focused on the trees. “In case that wasn’t obvious, I mean.”

“You’re supposed to be at _home_ tucked up in bed.”

“He’s right.” Scott said, looking at Stiles and having to squint through the blood crusted in his eyelashes. Gross. “If he hadn’t have turned up, well…”

Derek glanced at Scott briefly, catching his eye, before looking away again.

“I’ll clean this up as much as I can. I’ll just have to leave the house as it is.” Malia said flatly since she wasn’t about to do any remodelling any time soon. Stiles looked back at Austen’s house with a grimace. “Take him home before his dad kills all of us.”

“Come on, Stiles.” Scott stepped towards Stiles slowly, limping. Stiles frowned at his friend.

“You’re not carrying me. Don’t even think about it.”

“Get on. Now.” Scott ordered, turning around and crouching so Stiles could hop on his back like a toddler. “Before I knock you out.”

Well, couldn’t argue with that.

Derek watched him carefully as he mounted Scott’s back and wrapped his arms around his shoulders. Scott hoisted him up and carried him easily on his back, looking over at Derek. “You coming?”

“Yes.” Derek grunted without taking his eyes off Stiles. Stiles offered him a smile which wasn’t returned. Then Scott took off into the trees at a ridiculous speed, making Stiles hold onto him tighter. Derek followed behind them easily, rubbing at his neck a couple times like it was bothering him. No wonder, since he’d been in a Wendigo-choke hold and lived to tell the tale.

Once they got back, Scott helped Stiles back through his bedroom window and climbed in behind him. Derek didn’t follow them, taking off well before they even got back to the house. Stiles managed to clean Scott up as best he could, using a half-empty bottle of water and an old t-shirt from his room to scrub his face free of blood and guts and gloop.

“You stink.” Stiles couldn’t help himself from saying as he dabbed at Scott’s brow with his damp t-shirt, frowning at the wound here. “You’re gonna need to take a shower. There’s only so much I can do here.”

“I will when I’m back home. Don’t worry about me.” Scott eyed him carefully and let him wipe his face clean. “It’ll heal.”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t take care of you sometimes.” Stiles said honestly, because he was relieved he was able to swoop in and save the day, so to speak. He’d saved all of them. Including Scott.

“I don’t know where I’d be without you.” Scott answered, which was a really heavy statement. An umbrella term for Scott’s entire life. Stiles had been there with him through it all. “I still don’t know what to do without you around.”

Stiles hesitated, lowering his hand slowly from Scott’s head. “What do you mean? I’m right here.”

“You’re not staying.” Scott admitted, taking a hold of Stiles’ wrist and pressing the damp shirt back against his face. Stiles resumed dabbing at the wound there, wiping dirt and grime from Scott’s forehead carefully. “I’m guess I’m trying to tell you I’ll miss you.”

“I’m not far.” Stiles insisted, feeling an ache inside his chest. “Just a phone call away.”

“It’s not the same.”

“I know.” Stiles sighed and did his best to scrape away at the blood crusted in Scott’s eyebrow. “I know it’s not.”

Scott went silent after that and quietly let Stiles clean his face and neck. It was extremely intimate for the two of them, but it was sort of like riding a bike. Stiles had cleaned up Scott a lot of times in the past, and been his shoulder to cry on more times than he could count, but this time felt different. It felt like Scott was hurting in a different way.

“Is there anything I can say to get you to stay?” Scott asked once Stiles’ had finished and was wiping his hands off on his jeans. He looked over at Scott next to him on his bed.

“You want me to stay?” Stiles asked slowly, like he wasn’t sure if Scott would actually ask him that. Scott wasn’t one for holding Stiles back when it really mattered, and he’d been supportive of his moving away and living another life for a while. He guessed being back in action together again had made his friend reconsider.

“Of course I do, but…” Scott sighed. “It’s only for selfish reasons.”

“It’s not selfish.” Stiles insisted. “You’re my best friend. It’s not selfish at all.”

“It is.” Scott looked away towards the window. “You finally got out of Beacon, and I didn’t. I put off going to college to stay here and help out my mom. Now it feels like I’ll never be able to leave.”

“You say that, but if you’re ever given the opportunity again, I know you’d still stay.”

“I guess I’m not as strong as you.”

“Scott, you’re stronger than me in a lot of ways.” Stiles insisted with a deep sigh. Scott turned back to look at him. “I don’t know, I don’t really know where I belong anymore.”

“You’ll always have a place here.” Scott looked at him firmly, radiating sincerity. Stiles frowned at him and considered his options. He _could_ stay and do his course remotely if they’d allow it, but he’d still need to travel back and forth to do his field work. The academy probably wouldn’t go for it. There was one in California that he knew about with a slightly different program, though. So he _could_ enquire about some kind of transfer.

But did he really want to do that? Coming back to Beacon Hills was only supposed to be temporary. He was only here to lend a hand before flying back to Washington.

But then his dad had also expressed how much he’d missed him. And seeing that sad looking in his dad’s eyes had caused Stiles to crumble. Scott was looking at him in the same way now – it was all very confusing.

“Thanks.” Stiles replied eventually before standing up and throwing the blood-soaked shirt in his trash can. “I guess I’ll—I’ll think about it. That’s really all I can offer right now.”

Scott lit up instantly before he could collect himself. Stiles saw it, and it made him beam back. Then his friend’s face turned serious and _shit,_ what now?

“Did you talk to Derek?” Scott asked carefully.

“About what?”

“Seriously?”

Stiles sighed. “No, I didn’t. I’m alive, aren’t I?”

“You make it sound like he wants to kill you. Which we both know he doesn’t.”

“What makes you so sure?”

“Because I was _there_ tonight.” Scott told him, gesturing outside into the night. “I saw how you threw yourself at him—”

“I did _not_ throw myself at him!”

“—and I saw how Derek relaxed as soon as you touched him.” Scott finished, sending Stiles through a whirlwind of confusing emotions. His expression must have given him away because Scott shook his head. “I know Malia saw it too. Like he couldn’t stay mad at you. Which, to be fair, was entirely justified—”

“You mean when I _saved_ his life?” Stiles barked, then clamped his mouth shut and listened carefully for his dad. When it became apparent his dad didn’t hear him from downstairs, Stiles whispered instead but it came out more like a hiss. “I saved your life too.”

“Doesn’t mean it wasn’t stupid.” Scott grunted. “And also not the point here. Derek feels something for you.”

“I thought you said he hides his emotions from you?”

“He does, but not tonight. I guess he was distracted.”

“Maybe to do with the fact he smashed straight through the house and landed in the kitchen sink?”

Scott laughed. “I know, right? Did you see the concrete all over his hair?”

“I did.” Stiles laughed, because it was kind of hilarious now. At the time though, it really wasn’t. “So what are you saying, Scott?”

“I’m saying…” Scott rose to his feet and offered a small smile, like he still wasn’t totally on board but getting there. “If you want it – _only_ if you want it – this is your chance.”

“You’re forgetting about Lydia.” Stiles noted, realising that _he’d_ actually forgotten about Lydia. For the first time in his entire life. “Does she know what happened?”

“Derek was on his way over there when we came here.” Scott said. “She’ll know.”

Huh. So that’s why Derek hadn’t stuck around. Not only because he didn’t want to be with Stiles. Which wasn’t exactly relieving as it was absolutely terrifying. What if Lydia said something to him?

“Relax.” Scott interrupted his turmoil. “Lydia already suspects something is going on between you and Derek. She asked Malia about it when they were on their stakeout.”

“She _what?_ How would she even—”

“On top of being a genius, she’s also a girl, Stiles.” Scott narrowed his eyes. “Girls know things.”

“What are you, twelve?” Stiles barked back, spinning in a circle. “Why didn’t she say anything to me?”

“She’s probably waiting on you to bring it up.”

“ _Why_ would I ever bring that up?” Stiles asked which made Scott shrug impassively. “God, this is _so_ embarrassing. My girlfriend knew I had the hots for someone else before I did.”

“So you admit it.” Scott smirked. Stiles put his hands over his mouth, totally appalled at himself for saying something like that in front of his friend. Scott laughed and shook his head. “Well, at least you know it’s not one-sided, right? Nothing to be embarrassed about.”

“Yeah, like Malia won’t be all over me about this.”

“Well…”

“See.” Stiles scoffed and sunk into his desk chair. So. He felt _things_ for Derek, that was for sure, but he wasn’t about to bring it up. That just wasn’t happening. Derek would be gone soon anyway once this was all over. Back to whatever hole he crawled out of. Back to being alone. Stiles felt himself sigh at the thought, wondering if he’d be able to patch things up with Braeden after all of this.

Braeden would be better for him anyway.

“Well, that being said, I can talk to Malia.” Scott offered as gave Stiles a mischievous look. “I’ll even use my Alpha authority to get her to back off.”

“Like that’s ever stopped her before.” Stiles scoffed back, but appreciated it all the same.

Scott didn’t stick around much after that. He hopped back out the window and went home, leaving Stiles alone in his room where he was supposed to be all night. He felt bad for lying to his dad – well, technically he hadn’t _lied,_ just disobeyed a direct order – and ended up sending him a text that everything was fine.

Minutes later, the distinct click of his bedroom door being unlocked brought him back to his senses and freed him from his Derek-ridden thoughts. His dad poked his head into the room and holstered his hand gun after surveying that the coast was clear.

Stiles looked up at him sheepishly. “Hey, pops, what’s happenin’?”

His dad didn’t buy it. “How do you _know_ it’s over, exactly?”

“Uh. Scott. He texted me.”

“And you were up here all night?” His dad asked suspiciously. Stiles thought, this one time, that lying would be okay.

“Yep, without food or water like a real prisoner.” Stiles boasted easily, standing up and shimmying past his dad on the way to the bathroom. His dad followed him right up until Stiles turned around. “Uh, little privacy? Think I can relieve myself on my own.”

“What happened?” His dad barked.

“They killed the Wendigo. But, uh, there’s another one.” Stiles babbled awkwardly, leaving out the part where _he’d_ been the one to distract it before Scott swooped in and tore its head off. “We’re going to find that one too, and hopefully find Kate Austen too.”

“ _Where_ did they kill it?”

“Uh. In the back yard? Of Kate’s house, I mean.”

“Great.” His dad sighed and pinched his nose with two fingers. “I guess I’ll be getting a phone call any second now.”

“Probably.” Stiles winced and locked himself in the bathroom. He stared himself down in the mirror whilst listening to his dad grumble on the phone, responding to an apparent ‘vandalism’ incident. Kate Austen’s house. Oops, right? At least there hadn’t been blood reported, so Malia must have cleaned up pretty well.

It bought Stiles some time, at least, until they had to go on the look-out again. Time to decide what the hell he was going to do about Derek.

A few days passed without incident whilst the gang recuperated. Malia had taken it the hardest, a large chunk of wood having pierced her shoulder when she’d been thrown into the dog kennel. Stiles had learned that everything had gone to plan until the Wendigo that turned up was a hell of a lot bigger than the last one. And everything had gone to shit – it’d thrown Scott and Malia to the ground and grabbed Derek. Then Stiles appeared and saved the day by throwing _pebbles._ Pebbles! Seriously?

What good were werewolves anyway?

Lydia was furious at him, naturally. But he got the impression she was even more furious about the fact she’d missed the action again. She’d punched him daintily on the shoulder the second he went to see her and talked his ear off about the consequences of _recklessness_ and _dying_ etcetera. And Stiles had listened and took it all on board, even if they both knew fine well he’d do it again in a heartbeat. Lydia just had to blow off some steam about _something_ at Stiles. Since she’d obviously been bottling it all up over the past year.

Then she’d popped and Stiles was left to put her back together again. It didn’t exactly work out that way though, considering she’d kicked him out after tearing him a new one, and he was left blinking repeatedly outside. It wasn’t a break up per say – since neither of them had actually spoken the words – but it sure as hell felt like one. It left Stiles feeling guilty all the way home, hopping back into his jeep and speeding down the street.

So he had dinner with his dad every night since the Wendigo had been killed. An order, basically. His dad had threatened him with a curfew if he didn’t sit down and eat dinner with him every night for the remainder of his stay. Something that he gave up on after the third night when Stiles started to sulk into his meat loaf, feeling left out from the pack.

“Jeez, kid.” His dad said grumpily, pushing away his plate only half-eaten. “It’s just meat loaf.”

“I don’t really eat meat.” Stiles reminded him, making his dad sigh as he realised he’d forgotten. “I haven’t for a while, but you already knew that.”

“It wasn’t supposed to be punishment.” His dad said. “I just forgot. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine, I know you’re under a lot of stress.” Stiles pushed his plate away and crossed his arms over the table. His dad was looking at him with despair, and Stiles wished he could just disappear. “I’ll be out of your hair soon, don’t worry about it.”

“I don’t want you to go.” His dad said suddenly, and Stiles’ mouth fell open in surprise. “I mean, I talked to Professor Artz over at the California police academy. He said he’d personally oversee your transfer there if it was something you wanted to do.”

“What? How’d you get him to agree to that?”

“He owed me one.”

Stiles worried his bottom lip in concentration. He’d considered a transfer before, of course he had, after Scott had pretty much begged him to stay in Beacon Hills. But now it felt _real_ and it didn’t feel good. It felt like one step forwards and two steps back, after everything.

“You don’t have to decide today, kid.” His dad continued, obviously getting worried by Stiles’ silence. “I don’t want to pressure you into something you don’t want to do. It’s your life. But, I just…I guess I just like having dinner with you. Feels like home.”

“This’ll always be your home. Our home.” Stiles reminded him, looking down at his hands. “It might have bad memories, but it’s still our home.”

“It has good memories too. A lot more good than bad, otherwise I’d have left a long time ago.” His dad managed to chuckle and lean back in his chair. “Could do with hiring a decorator though.”

“You think? That wallpaper gives me the creeps.” Stiles laughed back, and suddenly he felt like he was home too. For the first time in a long time.

Aww, crap. He was going to have to seriously consider the possibility of him moving back to California, wasn’t he?

So he did. All day.

It wasn’t until he got a text from Scott sometime in the late afternoon, after his dad had dragged him grocery shopping to replace all the things Stiles had (super stealthily) put back on the shelves (like bacon and other fatty things bad for his dad’s heart). Stiles had retreated to the safety of his bedroom before dinner just for some peace and quiet. Which was really saying something considering he felt like erupting every time there was any form of silence surrounding him – his dad was the best, fine, but he was still a parent. And overbearing sometimes.

Stiles figured he was really growing up. Now he was the one feeling like a parent.

**Scott:** _Only a few places on the list, still no sign of the nest, losing hope kinda_

Stiles recognised his friend’s feeble attempt for consolation and reassurance. Scott was like that – he’d never say the words, but he wanted Stiles to tell him it’d be okay. Which he didn’t exactly know for sure, but what was one more lie at this point?

**Stiles:** _you’ll find it scotty, don’t worry so much. use that werewolf nose of yours and we’ll be wendigo-free in no time_

**Scott:** _Thanks. You still under house arrest?_

**Stiles:** _nah i think my dad feels bad i’ll be back helping u tmrw night. and by helping i mean saving your ass for the billionth time_

Hey, it was the truth.

**Scott:** _Great, I’ll let you know if we find anything_

Stiles sat his phone down and shook his head. He didn’t think they’d find anything tonight with the way things were going. It was looking hell of a more like that the remaining Wendigo was nesting somewhere out of town – and out of his dad’s jurisdiction – in which case, _road trip._ Except not the kind with Mad Libs and crappy CDs, the kind with impending doom and becoming someone’s dinner. Hypothetically, anyway.

He wondered if Derek would come. He was no stranger to road trips, having escaped from Beacon Hills twice since Stiles had met him, once with Cora and once with Braeden. Both didn’t work out so well in the end, since Derek came back both times with his tail between his legs. Stiles snickered at the idea, trying to imagine him with a tail and pouty ears.

Then his phone buzzed and sent him into a blind panic. No _way_ did Scott find something already.

**Derek:** _How accurate is this list?_

Stiles’ panic eased considerably. Of course Derek was tagging along on the hunt, of course he was. And Stiles had thought Scott had been trapped in a dark cave somewhere, begging for rescue. What a stupid idea. He huffed and sat down on his desk chair, slouching with his phone balanced on his lap.

**Stiles:** _hey, we worked hard on that thing, not my fault most of our ideas came from supernatural forums_

**Derek:** _Your research skills clearly need work._

Wow, what a dick. Stiles was really re-considering his mess of feelings for Derek.

**Stiles:** _if you’ve got any better ideas, asshole, i’m all ears. except then you’d need to use a laptop to research. you know. those technological thingys you hate so much_

**Derek:** _I know what a laptop is._

**Stiles:** _could’ve fooled me. why else would you keep asking us humans for help_

**Derek:** _What’s wrong?_

That was kind of a loaded question. Aside from the overwhelming surge of _feelings_ he was getting in his chest and stomach simply because Derek had _texted_ him and made him feel like lovesick teenager? How about the rabid and wrinkly Wendigo running around Beacon Hills looking for its next meal? Too many things were wrong. And Stiles was pretty sure he’d break the character limit on his phone trying to explain it all.

Turns out he didn’t have to explain anything when his phone buzzed again.

**Derek:** _Did something happen?_

**Stiles:** _nothing happened, i’m fine_

**Derek:** _You’re not fine._

Oh, so Derek was a mind-reader now. Great. Stiles didn’t even bother replying after working himself up in case Derek actually _was_ a mind-reader and he’d heard his absolute _mess_ of thoughts. Thoughts revolving around Derek and how he made him feel. _Shit._

He shoved his phone into his pocket and shook the idea from his head – literally shook it until his eyes felt like they were going to roll around in his skull. He started looking at the California academy, just for kicks. If it was something he was about to consider, and something that could completely uproot his life, he’d better do his research. It’d saved his life plenty in the past.

There was a tap at his window after an impressive five minutes. Stiles peered over at it from his desk curiously, before standing up and making his way over, almost hitting the ceiling when he saw Derek’s eyes glowing behind the glass.

“Christ alive.” Stiles managed as he slid the window open. “Since when do you ever knock?”

“Your dad is downstairs.” Derek said making absolutely no sense at all whilst he basically pushed Stiles out of the way and climbed inside. He straightened his back and towered over Stiles, wearing nothing but a loose v-neck and jeans. Stupid werewolves and their immunity to the cold night air. “And it’s polite.”

“Again, since when are you ever polite?” Stiles shot back, miffed at the fact the werewolf had ever stopped by in the first place. “Aren’t you supposed to be out helping Scott find this thing?”

“We were getting nowhere.”

“And you’re saying it’s my fault, right?” Stiles huffed and went back to sit in his desk chair. It swivelled under his weight when he sat down, forcing him to root his feet firmly on the floor. “Lydia helped me with that list too, you know. And I don’t see you climbing through her window to growl at her.”

“I’m not growling at anyone.”

“Yeah, right.” Stiles scoffed and glanced over at his laptop. Shit, he’d left the academy page open. He scrambled to close the windows before Derek clocked them.

“You’re moving schools?” Derek asked. Well, there goes that secret. Stiles was beginning to wonder why he even had secrets in the first place. “Why?”

“Keeping my options open.” Stiles shrugged and closed his laptop over under the scrutiny, watching has Derek took his designated seat on Stiles’ bed. Well, not _designated,_ but Stiles could dream. “Why’re you so interested in my education all of a sudden?”

“I’m not.”

“Then why _ask?_ ”

“It was open.” Derek gestured towards Stiles’ sleeping laptop with a flat look. Stiles felt like exploding because he couldn’t do this anymore. Derek was just _too much_ and it was _all the time._ Why the hell did he keep coming to see Stiles? And why the hell didn’t he mention the whole _arousal_ thing in the air that Scott kept going on and on about?

Stiles figured Derek was probably in denial. Or worse: maybe he knew how Stiles felt and didn’t do anything about it because he totally didn’t see Stiles that way. Ugh, he was in way over his head.

“Why are you here?” Stiles asked for what felt like the hundredth time. The hundredth time Derek had turned up at his house unannounced. And since they weren’t in immediate danger, it was a little suspicious.

“Are you okay?” Derek asked simply.

“Uh, _yes._ I’m fine. I mean, saving your life – _again –_ was cool and all but that doesn’t make a difference if there’s another one of those things out there running around. And Scott doesn’t know what to do, he’s too busy worrying about maintaining his Alpha status in the pack to worry about anything else. Sure, he’s a good Alpha but – not the point. The point is—” Stiles paused, confused, “What was the question again?”

Derek just stared at him, his brow furrowed into a tight line. Stiles felt compelled to continue his babbling. “Oh, right. Am I okay? I don’t know. Are _you_ okay? Because this situation is totally not something anybody should be okay with. Not a single _normal_ person would be okay with any of this. My dad isn’t okay, for one thing – and I feel bad about it. Like I’m just an annoying kid who keeps putting him in danger for nothing—”

“Your dad doesn’t blame you.” Derek interrupted. “It’s better if he knows the truth. Then you don’t have to keep lying to him.”

“Not helping.” Stiles rolled his eyes and leaned forward on his elbows, the chair creaking with his weight. “I’ve lied to him my entire life. Or at least a good portion of my life, I’m used to it. I had to lie to protect you. All of you.”

“We never asked you to sacrifice anything for us.”

“Uh, yeah you did. You don’t remember the whole, throwing me against the wall and threatening to rip out my spleen if I told my dad anything?” Stiles gestured towards his bedroom door, thinking back to his late high school years when the last thing he wanted was King Douche Derek Hale in his room. And now, years later, there he was, sitting on Stiles’ bed like he belonged there.

“That was a long time ago.” Derek said, looking towards the door in thought. “Things were different.”

“They’re not so different now. I mean, here you are in my bedroom again.”

“And all of your limbs are intact.”

“Okay, fine. For _now._ ” Stiles rolled his eyes and sighed. Derek leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, his hands supporting his chin. “There’s still time.”

“I’m not going to hurt you.” Derek insisted. Stiles didn’t reply, not even wanting to think about the ways Derek could hurt him now without even realising. His stupid brain and stupid Scott. Acknowledging his feelings or whatever for Derek was a completely horrifying idea and now that they were present in full force, Stiles felt himself suffocating. Derek frowned at him. “You think I’m here to hurt you?”

“No.” Stiles said honestly. “No, I don’t think you’re going to hurt me. Not intentionally, at least."

At the very least, Derek would let him down easy. And that would be a victory in itself, and Stiles could scurry away with everything intact except his pride.

“When have I ever hurt you _un_ intentionally?” Derek started smirking, prompting Stiles to scoff.

“Oh, shut up, you big sourwolf.”

Derek smirked wider, flashing his teeth at Stiles whose heart almost stopped at the sight. _Jesus._ “I talked to Scott.”

Oh. Shit.

Oh, no no no. Oh, _god_. “About what?”

“About the Wendigo you saw at the gas station.” Derek said, looking confused at Stiles’ reaction. Stiles exhaled all the air out his lungs in relief. Cool, his secret was safe, and he didn’t need to tear Scott a new one when he saw him. “It’s definitely the one we killed. The one at Austen’s house was different the night we cornered it. It looked female.”

“Those things have genders?”

“They used to.” Derek said, glancing to the side. Stiles wiggled himself closer in his chair, letting the wheels slide across the floor until they were only a few feet apart. He let his knee brush against Derek’s, because why the hell not. “They used to be human. There might be some humanity left in them, but it’s beyond saving. They’re fully transformed.”

“ _Transformed?_ ” Stiles parroted, his mouth hanging open. “You mean there’s different stages?”

“Yes. It takes time for it to change.” Derek turned back to look at Stiles, who was suddenly acutely aware of their proximity. Derek didn’t move though, so he figured it was fine. The conversation was intense enough to allow them to move so close. “Years. The more human flesh they consume, the stronger they become.”

“How do you know all this?” Stiles asked, focusing on the way Derek’s lips moved around each word like he couldn’t help himself. They looked softer than he’d imagined, and very, very pink. Shit.

“Deaton.” Derek explained, giving Stiles a strange look. “And Braeden text me some of it. I asked for her help.”

“And she gave it to you?” Stiles gaped, shoving away the ridiculous jealousy he felt. “Is she coming here?”

“No.” Derek grunted back. “She agreed to research it for me. That’s all she was willing to do.”

Without thinking, Stiles reached out and pat Derek on the knee. “It’s fine, dude. She’ll come around.”

Because at the end of the day, he wanted Derek to be happy with or without him. God knows he deserved it after everything they’d been through. The pack could do with a second of happiness once in a while.

Derek looked down at his offending hand with a crease in his brow like he couldn’t believe Stiles had the nerve to touch him. Stiles felt himself faltering, then slowly removed his hand with a mumble of apology. He was in way over his head. Derek looked back up at him with something like pain in his eyes. “No, it’s done. And it’s fine.”

“Just like that?” Stiles asked since Braeden and Derek had seemed pretty in love last time he’d seen them together. Weird how a year could change so many things.

“Just like that.”

“That’s crap.” Stiles blurted without thinking. Derek raised an eyebrow at him. “Do you just get off on being miserable or something? You were happy.”

“Why do you care so much?” Derek snapped back. “It’s not like you’re doing anything to help yourself.”

“Hey, Lydia and I have issues, alright? And it’s not like I’m going to beg her to take me back.” Stiles sighed and shook his head. “She didn’t deserve what I’ve put her through. She deserves better.”

“And what makes you think Braeden doesn’t deserve better?”

“Because!” Stiles exclaimed, then lowered his voice so his dad wouldn’t hear. That was the _last_ thing he needed right now, his dad storming into his room with his gun raised. Tensions were high enough. Derek was close to glaring at him, but Stiles pressed his lips into a firm line. “I just do. You’re—you’re—”

Stiles didn’t even know.

Derek’s gaze softened suddenly like he’d somehow understood what Stiles had been trying to say. “I’m not.”

“You don’t know anything.” Stiles told him. Because, honestly, Derek? A great guy. A terrific guy, once you got past that tough exterior of eyebrows and glaring and leather. Underneath, he was still a human being with thoughts and feelings and most of all, love. For his pack. “You really don’t know—I mean, how good you are. It’s like you try to hide it, with everything you do, like you’re afraid to show anyone who you really are. And that _sucks._ ”

“I’m not afraid.” Derek said quietly, eyes flicking between Stiles’ own like he was trying to work out an ulterior motive hidden there. There wasn’t one. “You know me.”

“Not really.” Stiles admitted, focusing on Derek’s mouth.

“You know enough.”

“Not really.” Stiles repeated because he wanted to know so much more, he just didn’t know how to say it. He didn’t know how to say how he could count the tiny, hidden freckles decorating Derek’s cheeks. He _really_ didn’t know how to say how pink his lips were.

“You’re my anchor.” Derek said, even quieter now, as if the words was only ever meant to be heard by Stiles and no one else. Like it was a secret, albeit one he already knew. “You know me better than anyone.”

“You’re right.” And he was right, Stiles guessed. It’d come as a surprise to both of them that he was Derek’s anchor, considering all Derek did was grumble and complain whenever he was involved in anything to do with Stiles. How times had changed. “I know you.”

After a lot of hardcore staring – mostly on Stiles’ part – Derek’s eyes flickered down to Stiles’ lips. And that was really the last straw.

It was awkward, being on a chair with wheels, but Stiles made it work. They were already leaning towards each other, and it wouldn’t take a lot of effort to close the distance between them. So Stiles pushed down his reservations somewhere deep inside his dilapidated brain and went for it, pointedly staring at Derek’s lips.

Derek didn’t move. He was deathly still like he’d lost the ability to move his body, perched on Stiles’ bed like a statue. This was his only chance. It was a life or death situation, really, but he figured it was worth a try.

He leaned forward cautiously, pressings his hands against his knees and balancing his weight. Derek still didn’t move, watching Stiles’ carefully with his lips parted. Those lips were really going to be the death of him. Wendigos be damned.

Just as they were inches apart, he saw Derek’s expression change from pained to vacant, like he’d managed to stop fighting himself, and his eyes started to flutter closed. He was really going to let Stiles kiss him. He’d fist bump about it later.

“Stiles! You awake up there?”

Panic coursed through his veins like lightning, sending him into a whirlwind of erratic movements, all of which caused him to promptly topple his chair over and faceplant on the ground. He groaned comically, laying on his front and gripping at the sheets above his head for some kind of pain relief.

The door to his room slammed open but Stiles couldn’t even look at his dad right now. Total moment ruiner extraordinaire Sheriff Stilinski.

“Oh, Derek.” His dad said somewhere behind him, sounding surprised. The familiar sound of his gun being returned to its holster roused Stiles from his reverie, making him grunt in pain and clutch at his nose. “I didn’t expect to see you…in my son’s bedroom. How did you get in here?”

“The window.” Derek sounded stiff, and judging by the lack of movement next to him, Stiles guessed he was still sitting on the bed. Then suddenly he was being pulled to his feet by his collar by a very disgruntled looking Derek. Shit.

“Your nose is bleeding.” Derek grunted like he really couldn’t care less about the fact. Stiles scowled at him before tilting his head back and pinching the bridge of his nose. His dad sighed in front of them both.

“What the hell happened?”

“What happened?” Stiles croaked. “You scared the shit out of me.”

“Language.” His dad barked, making Stiles feel like a ten year old again. He did nothing but whine sarcastically at his _entire life right now._ “Get cleaned up. Go.” His dad ordered before looking pointedly at Derek. “A word with you. Downstairs.”

_Shit._

“Dad, it’s fine, he was just—”

“Get cleaned up. Now.”

“Dad, really—”

“It’s fine.” Derek interrupted their argument and straightened his back. “Go.”

So Stiles went to the bathroom and locked the door, listening to their footsteps descend the stairs and fade away. He tried to listen to whatever was being said, but he couldn’t hear anything. Nothing at all. God _damnit._ Oh, god. He quickly made a mess of the bathroom, decorating it generously with half-torn pieces of toilet paper soaked in blood.

His dad could really pick his moments.

But…woah. He almost kissed Derek. And Derek almost _let him._ He didn’t push Stiles away. He had to have known what his intentions were the second he started leaning in – hey, werewolves can _sense_ that stuff. Derek _wanted_ to be kissed. Derek _wanted Stiles to kiss him._

Holy guacamole.

“Stiles?” There was a sharp knock on the bathroom door and his father’s stern voice behind it. “Open up.”

Shit. “Just a sec.”

Once he’d unlocked the door and opened it, his dad started sighing. “It’s a blood bath in here, Stiles.”

“It’s not like I _asked_ for a nosebleed.” Stiles protested, scrambling to gather up the scattered pieces of toilet paper around the sink and promptly flushed them down the toilet. He inspected his nose in the mirror and groaned, knowing it’d bruise. Great. Another thing to remind himself of his pathetic humanity.

“So, tell me something.” His dad started, crossing his arms and leaning against the doorframe as he watched Stiles dab his nose with a bath towel. “How often does Derek Hale sneak into your bedroom?”

Stiles gave his dad a pained look through his reflection in the mirror. “Not often.”

“Uh huh.” His dad totally wasn’t buying it.

“Where is Derek, anyway?”

“He left.” His dad said sternly, like he’d ordered Derek to leave. Not good.

“Dad, you didn’t need to do that. He’s—”

“He’s what, Stiles?” Aww, crap. There was his Sheriff voice again. Stiles was done for. “Because last time I checked, we have a front door. And a doorbell. So, do you want to tell me why he wouldn’t use either of those things? Or why he wouldn’t want me to know he was in your bedroom?”

Stiles hesitated visibly, searching his brain for an explanation that wouldn’t land him in even hotter water.

_Hey, dad, look, I just tried to kiss him, that’s all._

_He was going to let me kiss him._

_I kinda have feelings for him._

_He keeps showing up and I don’t want him to stop._

“He just came over to talk.” Is what Stiles ends up going with in the end after a long period of silence that just made matters worse. “About stuff.”

“What stuff?”

“Personal stuff.”

“ _What_ personal stuff?”

“Well, if I told you then it wouldn’t be personal, would it?” Stiles snapped, lowering the bath towel and sighing at his own reflection. “He talks to me, dad. He doesn’t have anyone else. You want me to just send him away?”

“Why can’t he talk to Scott?” His dad grumbled back, shifting his weight from foot to foot and uncrossing his arms. After sighing, he came into the bathroom and turned Stiles around to look at him so he could assess the damage. “You look like you’ve been in a bar fight.”

“Yeah, like I’d go to a bar.” Stiles snorted back. His dad made a face.

“I’ve caught you in a bar before.” Yeah, a _gay_ bar. Shit, was that intentional? Was his dad really implying Stiles was gay right now?

Well, he was half right, Stiles would give him that.

“Very funny.” Stiles rolled his eyes and, ow. Not a good idea. “Why’d you send him away?”

“I told him next time he wants to visit, he’s to use the front door.” His dad grunted back, then tugged Stiles out of the bathroom and downstairs into the kitchen. He sat him down at the kitchen table and shuffled around in the freezer for ice. “He looked guilty.”

“Guilty of what?” Stiles groaned back, closing his eyes. “If you say murder, I swear to god—”

“No.” His dad sighed again before pressing a damp cloth filled with ice to Stiles’ nose and holding it there. “Tilt your head back.”

Stiles obeyed and managed to crack an eye open. “You sure you’re not the one feeling guilty?”

His dad laughed. “No, I don’t. You get your clumsiness from your mother, not me.”

“You’re the worst.” Stiles groaned. Except his dad wasn’t the worst, he was the best. Most of the time. When he wasn’t interrupting possibly one of the most life-changing moments in history. Shit, Derek was totally never going to come back now.

“Next time, at least tell me he’s here.”

“I don’t think you have to worry about that for a while. You probably scared him off.”

“Why would I do that?” His dad asked, lowering the damp towel despite Stiles’ protests. “Unless he has something to hide.”

That was putting it lightly.

“You mean aside from the fact he’s a werewolf?” Stiles managed, making his dad roll his eyes and press the towel back to his injured nose. “I’ll talk to him. Eventually.”

“Is Lydia aware of whatever’s going on between the two of you?”

“What do you mean?”

“You and Derek.” His dad looked pained as if he couldn’t believe they were actually having this conversation. If Stiles hadn’t been in pain, or if his nose wasn’t throbbing and there wasn’t stars dancing around behind his eyelids, he might have cracked another joke. “I’m not stupid, son. Don’t treat me like I am.”

“I’m not—” Stiles faltered under his dad’s gaze. His dad looked right through him like he was as transparent as glass, reading him like an open book. He sighed heavily and closed his eyes. “She knows.”

“How’s she taking it?”

“She hasn’t said anything.”

“You mean _you_ haven’t said anything.” His dad lifted Stiles’ hand and pressed it to the cloth so he could hold it himself, before taking a seat across the table. “Does Scott know?”

Stiles huffed. How was this his life? “He’s the one who talked me into it.”

“Was he now?” His dad made a face like him and Scott were _going to have words._ Stiles tried to shake his head swiftly, but it was difficult with a cloth attached to his face. “Scott is really a pain in my ass sometimes.”

“You and me both.” Stiles agreed, then after a moment of tense silence, he looked over at his dad. “Are you angry?”

“No.” His dad said instantly like it was a reflex, before he stopped to consider his answer. “No, I’m not angry at you. I’m just…well, surprised, for lack of a better word. You should have told me.”

“I didn’t exactly _know_ about it until the other day.” Stiles defended himself. “And I couldn’t exactly talk to you about it when I was already under house arrest. I mean, come on, you’d have put bars on my windows and cuffed me to my desk.”

“I wouldn’t have.” But for a second it looked like his dad actually considered the idea. “You need to start talking to me.”

“I talk to you.”

“About things like this. About things that maybe your father should know, like you eloping with a werewolf.”

“ _Eloping?_ ” Stiles croaked out. “We’re not eloping, dad!”

“I know you’re not.” His dad sighed and rubbed at his eyes tiredly. “Listen to me, Stiles. There is nothing you could ever tell me that would make me think less of you. You’re first and foremost my son, everything else is just background noise. Do you understand me?”

Stiles nodded slowly.

“As much as I don’t like the idea of…you two…together.” His dad cleared his throat awkwardly and looked away, making Stiles want to start flailing his arms around in an attempt to release the tension from his shoulders. “If it’ll make you happy, I’ll live with it.”

Gee, that was a half-assed blessing if Stiles had ever heard one. But he figured it was better than no blessing at all. When did his life become a teenage drama?

“However,” his dad clearly wasn’t finished, “I think it’s appropriate he use the doorbell from now on.”

“You got it.” Stiles agreed once the reality of the situation hit. His dad totally called him out on his _feelings_ for Derek and he didn’t freak out. He actually – kind of – gave him his blessing. Which was something he hadn’t even considered before since he was a freaking _adult_ now and didn’t need anyone’s blessing. But his dad was as old fashioned as the wallpaper in the living room.

“And I want to talk to him. Properly. About this.” His dad drawled out the words like speaking was somehow difficult for him, like he hadn’t spent the last billion years as a Sheriff. Stiles held his breath. “As in, I’m inviting him for dinner.”

“Uh, no you’re definitely not. You’re totally not doing that. That won’t be happening. Nope.”

“That’s weird, because I don’t remember making it sound like you had a choice in the matter.”

_Oh god._ This totally wasn’t happening. He must have hit his head harder than he thought and transported to another dimension where _meeting the parents_ and _awkward, want-to-kill-yourself dinners_ were a real thing. Realer than the thing between him and Derek. Which wasn’t even a _thing_ yet. The key word being _yet._ Since Stiles wasn’t even sure what would happen – or what would have happened – if he’d kissed Derek like he’d intended.

But Derek seemed to allow it. That’s what Derek did – he allowed things. Never once initiating anything, really, except maybe a fight to the death or ripping someone’s throat out if they’d offended him. Things like that Derek knew how to do, but intimacy with Stiles? Totally not his area of expertise. Not that Stiles was gifted in physical intimacy. Emotional intimacy, sure, count him in, but _physical?_ With _Derek?_

Jesus, what had he gotten himself into?

_tbc_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone for your lovely comments so far ♥♥♥


	5. Folie à Deux

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Chapter Title translation:** Folie à Deux - Madness Shared by Two (French psychiatric term)

**Scott:** _Dude what the hell happened between you and Derek?_

**Scott:** _Did you have a fight again? I didn’t tell him anything I swear_

**Scott:** _Seriously man he’s acting weird. Weirder than usual. And that’s weird_

**Malia:** _Answer Scott right now before I come over there chew your head off_

**Lydia:** _Are you alive?_

**Scott:** _I’m coming over_

Seriously, Stiles’ phone was taking the hit for this. It was already at 20% by the time he’d mustered up the courage to check it after he’d been grilled by his father about being _safe_ and being in a _relationship_ – when it _wasn’t even a relationship yet_ – with a werewolf. He felt like he’d been through the wringer, all tense and tight and _everything._ He’d only managed to escape back to his bedroom once he’d almost had a panic attack at the kitchen table.

Then his dad started feeling bad and sent him to bed without dinner. Not like he could stomach anything, anyway, considering his life was a freaking mess.

Scott had probably contacted the entire pack about him. Even Lydia had text him. Even _Malia_ , who had obviously had enough of Scott’s worrying and pestering and threatened Stiles’ life if he didn’t respond quickly. He’d only managed to sit himself down on his bed and stare at the wall for a good two minutes before Scott was crashing through his bedroom window at an alarming – and marginally impressive – speed.

Stiles didn’t really react though, sitting motionless on his bed with a vacant look on his face. Like he’d finally lost his mind after everything that had happened to him. And this is what had caused it, _this?_ Derek? Seriously. He felt like keeling over.

Scott looked at him, alarmed, and sat down on the bed next to him. His weight shifted their positions slightly, but even then Stiles couldn’t find it in himself to move. “Stiles? Are you okay? What happened?”

Stiles blinked repeatedly, repeating the recent scenes in his head like a bad movie. A movie about himself. A movie where he’d almost made out with a werewolf who may-or-may-not want to kill him. And one where his father breaks out the _safe sex_ speech with quotes and citations and everything.

“Stiles.” Scott tried again, sounding more panicked and high pitched. “What happened? Your heart is pounding.”

“Nearly had a panic attack.” Stiles explained thickly. “Downstairs. With dad.”

“Why?”

Stiles looked over at Scott whose eyes were almost as big as saucers. Suddenly, he felt stupid for freaking out so much over this when they clearly had problems bigger than his love life right now. “Derek.”

“I kinda figured that part, man.” Scott frowned. “He was here.”

“Yep. Right where you’re sitting.”

“What happened?”

“I kissed him.” Scott’s brain obviously exploded at that, making Stiles correct himself. “I mean, I _almost_ did. I went for it. And then my dad burst in the room and, well, you know.” He motioned to the state of his face and nose, at the newly forming black eyes. “The rest is history.”

Scott frowned harder after collecting himself, then pressed his hand to Stiles’ forehead to take some of his pain. It left Stiles feeling lethargic, but grateful. “He saw you two?”

“No.” Stiles closed his eyes and let Scott’s touch soothe his aching bones. “But he guessed, since Derek snuck in here. So I just told him straight – uh, so to speak. And he took it…well, I guess you could say he took it well. Eventually. He wants Derek to come over to _talk_.”

“Oh, shit.” Yeah, no kidding. “Oh, _shit._ ”

“Dude, not helping.”

Scott shook his head firmly and put more pressure on Stiles’ forehead like he was trying to take away his anguish too. It didn’t work. “Derek’s being really weird. He’s quiet – I mean, quieter than usual. He barely said two words to me or Malia when he came back.”

“I’ve no idea what my dad said to him. He wouldn’t tell me. So I guess it wasn’t good. Maybe something like, how about using the door instead of my son’s window?”

“Shit.”

“Yeah, you said that.”

“How did Derek react?”

Stiles shrugged and pushed Scott’s hand away once he started feeling his eyelids drooping. Scott was looking at him with fear in his eyes, like he didn’t really want to know the answer. “I don’t know. He left before I could talk to him.”

“No, I mean, how did he react when you tried to…you know.”

“Oh.” Stiles paused, thinking. “He didn’t really do anything. He just…let me. I mean, he was _going_ to let me before my dad almost broke the door down like he was Rambo or something.”

“Your dad would make a good Rambo.” Scott offered a smile like he was trying to lighten the mood. “See? I told you. He likes you too.”

“That doesn’t mean anything.” Stiles sighed and rubbed at his poor nose, grimacing. “My dad probably snapped him back to reality. There’s no way he’ll talk to me again after this.”

“You don’t know that. I’m guessing he’s probably freaking out as much as you are right now.”

“When have you ever seen Derek freak out over anything?”

“A lot.” Scott rolled his eyes. “You have too. He’s still a person, you know? A weird, quiet, stalker-ish person, but still a person.”

“He’s _Derek._ ” Stiles shot back like it changed anything. “Oh my god, I tried to kiss Derek.”

“I know.” Scott gave him a sympathetic look. “And it’s gonna be fine, Stiles. I know it’s probably the weirdest thing you’ve ever done, but that’s the hand fate has dealt you.” When Stiles shot him a look, wondering why the hell he’d become so wise all of a sudden, Scott cleared his throat. “I’m just saying, you can’t control how you feel, right? And we’re werewolves.”

“I’m not a werewolf.” Because, _duh._ So everyone kept reminding him.

“I meant, Derek and me are.” Scott huffed. “He’ll feel it more than you do. The pull to you. I felt it with Allison, like I couldn’t breathe until I was with her.”

Stiles’ expression changed from disbelief to pained in 0.05 seconds. “I’m sorry. For Allison. I didn’t know you—”

“It’s fine.” Scott interrupted, and Stiles took it like he really didn’t want to go into it. And that was fine. Losing Allison had been tough on them all. It had to have been a horrible time for Scott too, and it made Stiles feel sick to his stomach. “All I’m saying is, if it’s anything like it was with her, then Derek probably feels it a lot stronger than you do. It’s difficult to explain to someone who doesn’t…get it. I mean…”

“To a human, you mean.”

“Yeah.” Scott smiled sadly. Stiles felt a painful jolt inside his chest, like he wanted to take Scott’s sadness away. “I feel stuff a lot stronger than you do, I guess it comes with the territory. And Derek was born a werewolf, so, I dunno. It could be worse.”

Stiles started shaking his head in disbelief. If Derek actually felt anything for Stiles, why wouldn’t he act on it in the first place? Age wasn’t an issue anymore. Stiles wasn’t a teenager now, like he had been when they’d first met, but he guessed it didn’t really change anything since age was never an issue. After everything he’d been through – after everything they’d all been through – it’d aged him beyond his years. He was stronger, wiser, smarter…all the things he’d expect an adult to be.

But since Stiles had reached his twenties, he realised that even adults don’t know what the hell they’re doing. God, his dad was probably just making it up as he went along.

Sounded a lot like Stiles, actually.

“What’d you think I should do?” Stiles asked, looking over at his friend. The skin around his eyes had begun to ache, like it was anticipating the bruises on their way.

“Don’t think about it.” Scott ordered, making Stiles roll his eyes. Yeah, like that was even possible. “Don’t do anything. If I’m right about this, Derek will eventually come to you.”

“Or my dad’ll drag him here.”

“Or your dad will drag him here.”

“Great advice, man. You should be a guidance counsellor. You’re wasted over there at Deaton’s.”

“That’s just what I think you should do.” Scott narrowed his eyes and stood up, the floorboards creaking under his weight. “Like an experiment.”

“You say that like Derek is a science project or something.” Stiles guffawed and leaned back, resting his weight on his hands against the mattress. “A werewolf project.”

“Something like that. It’s the best way to test my theory, at least.” Scott shook his head at Stiles and looked towards the window like he wanted to leave. “If he feels a bond, he won’t be able to stay away from you.”

Stiles gulped. “You say that like he doesn’t repress every single emotion under the sun.”

“He can’t repress something like that. He can fight it, sure, but I get the impression it’s a little late for that.”

“What do you me—”

There was a clatter to Stiles’ left, like the sound of someone stomping on the floor outside his door. Abruptly it was swung open to reveal his father, looking like he was about to start pummelling whoever tested his patience. He took one look at Scott and pinched the bridge of his nose. Scott looked bewildered, like he hadn’t even heard the Sheriff coming up the stairs.

“Are you _kidding_ me?”

“Uh.” Stiles panicked, naturally, because he didn’t need another werewolf sneaking into his bedroom in the dead of night. “So. Scott’s here.”

His dad shot him a pained look like he was stating the obvious. Scott was frozen to the spot with his mouth hanging open, like a dog about to get an ass whooping. Which wasn’t too far from the truth.

“You too?” His dad barked at him. “Do none of you know how to use a door handle?”

“I used the window.” Scott drawled out. Stiles stood up quickly and raised his hands.

“Please don’t put bars on them. I’ll be good. It’s just Scott.”

“Does your mother know you’re here?” His dad asked, not paying Stiles any mind. Stiles grimaced at himself and cursed the night sky like it had betrayed him. Scott cleared his throat and collected himself.

“No.”

“Well, I guess I’ll be calling her.”

“No!” Scott and Stiles exclaimed in unison, waving their hands in the air like a pair of idiots. Which they totally were right now, if his dad’s expression was anything to go by. Stiles cleared his throat awkwardly, prompting Scott to elaborate. “I mean, I was just leaving.”

“Like hell you are. Downstairs.” His dad narrowed his eyes and stepped back to hold the door open. “You too, Stiles.”

“Seriously? Haven’t I had enough scolding for one evening?”

“Now.”

Scott scrambled out the door and went downstairs without another word. Stiles protested but eventually was pushed downstairs by his father, stumbling on each step as he tried to resist. Eventually, after a lot of pushing and squirming – mostly on Stiles’ part – his dad managed to get them to sit down on the sofa in the living room. Stiles slouched against the cushions and let his expression convey how totally _not cool_ this was. Scott, however, was looking like he was about to burst a blood vessel and tap out.

The Sheriff was pacing in front of them without saying anything, shaking his head back and forth like he couldn’t believe he’d managed to get himself wrapped up in all this mess. Now he had two delinquent twenty-something year olds sitting on his sofa, looking guilty and wide eyed.

“Scott.” His dad barked, pausing in front of the werewolf with a frown. Scott looked up at him speedily, like he was trying to play nice and be good so he could get the hell out of there. Stiles, unfortunately, lived there and couldn’t escape. “I have a strict policy in this house. All visitors have to use the front door, and they have to knock first. In case you forgot that.”

“I’m sorry, I just—”

“ _And_ my son is grounded. He won’t be having any more visitors for a while.” His dad continued like Scott didn’t exist, shooting a hard look over at Stiles on the other side of the sofa.

“You can’t ground me! I’m an _adult!_ ”

“Sir, you really don’t need to do that. Stiles is—”

“Stiles _is_ , is he?” His dad snorted and sank down onto his chair with a resigned sigh, looking between the two of them. “You know, I’ve really had it up to here with you lot.”

“Sorry.” Scott offered sheepishly, glancing at Stiles. “I just—I just wanted to make sure he was okay.”

“Why wouldn’t he be okay?”

Stiles shot Scott a look and not-so-stealthily hissed, “Don’t.”

“He already _knows_.” Scott whispered back as if his dad couldn’t hear everything they were saying anyway.

“I already know, do I?” His dad looked at Stiles cautiously. “Is this about Derek?”

Stiles shook his head wildly, but Scott had other plans. “Yes.”

“You’re a _dick._ ”

“Shut _up_.”

“ _Boys._ ” Oh, okay, so that was totally demeaning. His dad was shaking his head by the time Stiles had kicked Scott on the sofa, gaining a slap on the back of his head for his troubles. “Scott, tell me what business you have in Stiles’ private life.”

“Uh.” Scott said stupidly. Stiles choked on his own saliva. “Not much, I guess. I mean, not since he left.”

“I went to school, dick. I didn’t just leave.” Stiles rolled his eyes and looked anywhere but at his father. “He’s my best friend. He’s totally involved in my business, dad, whether I like it or not.”

“And you’re the one responsible for my son’s relationship with Derek Hale?”

_Relationship._ Oh, god. Derek was totally going to kill him.

“Yes.” Scott admitted, but it wasn’t without hesitation. “Although it’s not exactly a relationship yet. It’s just a feeling.”

“A _feeling._ ”

“It’s a werewolf thing.”

“Are you trying to tell me us humans can’t understand feelings?” Uh oh, this was getting out of control fast. Stiles had to step in and do something.

“Dad.” He began, sounding firm but shaky. His dad looked at him with a pained expression. “I know I said Scott talked me into it, but—”

“Dude, _what?”_ Scott sounded offended.

“ _But,_ ” Stiles swatted at Scott’s knee to shut him up, “even if he didn’t, I’d have probably gotten here by myself. I mean. I’d still feel the same without Scott’s intervening. And besides, what difference does it make, really? Derek’s not interested in me. And after tonight, well, I guess I’ll be lucky if he ever talks to me again.”

“How many times has he been here without me knowing?”

“Uh.” Stiles couldn’t even count. “A few.”

“More than that.” Scott added like an asshole.

“And you’re taking that as him _not_ being interested.” His dad said it slowly, like Stiles wouldn’t understand. Which he didn’t, fine, because Derek was _Derek_ for crying out loud. He might have had his chance but it’d been snatched away. “Jesus, son. Are you really that dense?”

“That’s what I’m saying.” Scott chirped in, ignoring Stiles’ glare. “At least, that’s what I _was_ saying before you almost broke the door down.”

“Hey.” Dad looked frustrated now, peering over at Scott. “I’ve already kicked one werewolf out of here tonight, I can easily make it two.” Scott surrendered at least, sinking further into the sofa. “Just how often are you sneaking into Stiles’ room?”

“Um, a lot?” Scott managed. “Not just me. I mean, for a while, at least. We used to do it a lot before everything went to shit.”

“Language.”

“Sorry.”

“And why my son?”

“Dad, it’s fine. I don’t mind it.” Stiles couldn’t keep himself out of the conversation any longer, his limbs twitching. “Hell, I’d probably lose my shit – uh, sorry, I mean _crap_ – I’d lose it if they didn’t. I mean, then I’d _know_ something was wrong if none of them turned up. It’s my role in the pack, basically, to be everyone’s shoulder. It’s been that way since the beginning whether I liked it or not.”

“That’s not the only reason you’re part of the pack.” Scott furrowed his eyebrows painfully over at Stiles. Which totally wasn’t the point here.

“Anyway, like I said, it’s _fine._ ” Stiles continued. His dad was watching him with narrowed eyes. “I should have told you, okay?”

“You should have.” His dad confirmed, then hesitantly looked over at Scott. “So, you didn’t talk him into anything?”

“No intentionally, no.” Scott looked at Stiles pointedly. “I just sensed something was going on before he did.”

“And this…thing…going on.” His dad struggled. “Derek feels the same?”

Scott nodded. “Probably more than Stiles does, whether he wants to or not.”

“You’re really not boosting my confidence, Scott.”

“What I mean is, Derek is… well, he’s—”

“Difficult.” Stiles finished, then realised he definitely wasn’t helping himself.

“No, he’s just…damaged, I guess.” Oh, gee, like that was any better, great job Scott. “He’s been through a lot, I mean we all have. I don’t know what I’m trying to say.”

“Clearly.” Stiles said flatly. His dad sighed. “Can we maybe forget everything that happened tonight? Mainly the fact that you _grounded_ me. Maybe?”

“We need his help.” Scott offered. “To fight the Wendigo. We’re close, I can feel it. We just need more time.”

“My son is not getting dragged into your mess.” There was that I’m The Sheriff And I Can Destroy You With One Phone Call voice again. “You keep him safe.”

“Yes.”

“And no more dislocated shoulders.”

“You got it.”

“In my defence—” Stiles babbled but was interrupted like he didn’t exist.

“And next time you come over, you tell me you’re here.” His dad finished, running out of terms and conditions to whatever agreement they were getting themselves into. But it really sounded like his dad was giving it an _okay, fine_ to everything since he knew he didn’t have any choice in the matter to begin with. “That goes for Derek, too.”

“You got it.” Scott confirmed, then nudged Stiles roughly with a pointed look. Eventually Stiles straightened and nodded as well. Hell, why not. What was the worst that could happen?

“You want me to do _what?_ ”

Turns out, the worst thing that could possibly ever happen was Stiles being told to stay at home away from the action. Again.

“I want you to stay put.” Scott sounded as firm as he could be, talking down to Stiles who might as well have been hand-cuffed to his desk. He wasn’t, thankfully, but it felt the same. Scott cut a deal with his dad – something Stiles didn’t have any say in – to keep him out of harm’s way for the remainder of his stay. Something that was totally never going to happen.

Or so he thought. Until Scott and Malia herded him in his bedroom and threatened his life if he didn’t stay _there_ for the rest of the night. His dad had gone to work begrudgingly, but it wasn’t until after he’d forced Scott to shake his hand and promise him to leave Stiles out of it for tonight. It was a decision Scott apparently took very seriously if the way his lips were pressed into a firm line meant anything.

“Don’t you have schoolwork to be doing, anyways?” Malia grumbled, hovering close to the doorway. She hadn’t entered his room since they arrived, choosing to instead guard the door in case Stiles made a break for it. Was he really that predictable?

“I’m all caught up.” Stiles huffed back from where he sat, basically pinned to the mattress in front of Scott’s menacing stance. “Why’re you doing this?”

“He made a promise to your dad.” Malia answered. “And your dad scares him.”

“He scares you, too.” Scott shot back, making Malia shrug loosely. “Look, Stiles, I’m not saying tonight is the night we find this thing or whatever, but we’re close. And you need to stay here.”

“You both know that’s not going to happen.” Stiles boasted, knowing he’d find some way to escape in the end. He always did. Wiggling out of situations he didn’t want to be in was a talent he had, and one that would definitely come in handy tonight. He just had to wait for his moment.

Scott, however, had obviously foreseen the possibility. “I thought you’d say that. That’s why you’re not the only one sitting out tonight.”

Malia smirked silently from the corner of the room, making Stiles eye her suspiciously. “What?”

“Derek’s going to watch your house.” Malia said. “You know, in case you decide to jump out the window or something.”

“Again.” Scott added. What.

“He’s _what?_ ” Stiles barked, shooting to his feet and scrambling to the window. He couldn’t see anything at all, save for the scattered trees and part of his roof. Nah, they were joking. Derek wouldn’t dream of missing out on the action just to babysit Stiles. Considering he’d been pretty much MIA ever since last night when he’d gotten an earful from his dad about _dating his son._ Which he wasn’t even doing.

“Your dad agreed to it.” Scott explained, looking pleased with himself. Like he’d suddenly become a prime matchmaker overnight. Stiles felt like choking the life out of him. “You’re welcome.”

“Do you feel like you’re doing me a favour?” Stiles grumbled over at his friend who was still looking victorious. “Keeping one of your strongest people out of the fight tonight? You’re deluded.”

“I know you don’t mean yourself.” Malia snarked, making Stiles give her the finger. She snarled back at him until Scott dismissed her with a wave of his hand.

“I meant Derek, you dumbass.”

“Like I said, we don’t even know if we’ll find it tonight.” Scott continued, making his way to Malia. “And he’ll know if something goes wrong. We’ll be fine.”

“So, that’s it? You’re just gonna leave me here?”

“You’re not without protection.” Malia commented, then grinned. “Or a babysitter, if you prefer.”

“I think Derek’s proved himself to be a pretty crappy babysitter in the past. You remember Erica and Isaac, right? ‘Cause that was such a fun time for everyone.”

“He’s changed. You of all people should know that by now.” Scott barked back, making Malia raise a curious brow at him. Stiles called them both idiots before they left, descending the stairs and locking the door behind them.

Great.

So Stiles was alone, sort of. Derek was probably perched somewhere outside listening to him, without daring to come inside. He wouldn’t dream of it. Not after what Stiles had done. He’d tried to _kiss_ him, for crying out loud. And Derek knew it. He didn’t stop it, but Stiles’ dad did, and Stiles was left wondering if it’d ever even happened to begin with. Maybe he’d dreamed up the entire night.

Well, no. He hadn’t. The trauma from his dad trying to have the safe sex talk with him was enough to root him in reality and remind himself that everything did, in fact, happen. But he didn’t feel any better about it.

Scott was adamant they finished the list tonight. Lydia was suspiciously absent from the meeting, per say, but Stiles figured she was still probably involved somehow. Lydia was good at remaining on the side lines away from the drama, but still soaking up every single detail that happened. That’s what made her so scary – her intimate knowledge of everyone, knowing exactly where to press when she wanted it to hurt. Stiles was dating a psychopath.

Or he _was._ Lydia had kind of made it clear that she and him were over the second she appeared on his doorstep. And Stiles had accepted it because he deserved it. Then Scott had sent him into a whirlwind of _Derek_ feelings that got him nowhere fast. Ugh, what a mess.

And suppose they _did_ find the Wendigo nest tonight, then what? Would they find Kate Austen and save the day or would they be eaten alive? Both theories were entirely possible. And neither of them made Stiles feel any better. Huffing loudly, he all but threw open his bedroom window and leaned out of it, wishing he could escape. No doubt Derek’s arm would be around him in a hot second, dragging him back inside.

Well, Derek’s arm around him sounded good, but staying inside didn’t. God. What a _mess._

“You’re really gonna stay out there and leave me here to stew by myself?” Stiles asked the night sky, lowly, since he knew Derek would hear him anyway. When there was no answer after a long minute, Stiles sighed. “Surely you’re upset at missing the action, too. Come on. Let me out and we can talk about this.”

Dead silence. Great. Something Stiles was used to from Derek, but not something he welcomed. And certainly not now. But maybe Derek was avoiding saying anything for a reason. Maybe his dad had banned him from talking to his son. Shit. That was way worse than Derek simply ignoring him.

So Stiles tried again, leaning further out the window and peering around outside into the night on the off chance he’d catch a glimpse of Derek’s menacing frame. Or of his big arms busting out of his jacket, or the way his eyes reflected the street light. Oh, god. So not the time for those kind of thoughts, Stiles. Come on.

“My dad didn’t mean it, you know.” He tried, talking to basically nothing but thin air. “Whatever he said, he didn’t mean it. He’s just being protective.” When there was no response again, he felt himself getting frustrated and sad. “Look, I know it’s—ugh, I know it’s the worst thing ever, but my dad is—he doesn’t hate you.”

“I wasn’t worried about that.”

Stiles jumped out of his skin and bumped his head on the top of the window at Derek’s voice echoing from above him. He whipped his body around and bent awkwardly out the window to peer up at the roof where Derek was apparently perched. The werewolf was crouching low, with one hand on the tiles supporting his weight. Stiles felt like he hadn’t seen him in forever, and it was nice. Too nice.

Aw, crap. There went his stomach again, all backflips and butterflies like some kind of teenage girl. What the hell, man?

“Seriously? On the roof? What are you?” Stiles barked up at Derek from where he was half-hanging out the window, spine digging into the wood. “A _werewolf?_ ”

“Yes.” Well, god, that was the only response he was going to get, wasn’t it? But still, Derek wasn’t ignoring him now. And progress was progress.

“Dude.” Stiles sighed and gripped on tighter to the window frame so he wouldn’t fall. “What the hell? I thought we understood each other.”

“Understood what?”

“Since I saved you!” Stiles yelled up at him, making Derek squint and look around to see if anyone had heard him. But to hell with it. “I thought we’d reached some silent _agreement_ that we’d both be present next time the pack did something like this!”

“Your father was very convincing.” Derek said stiffly, and, well, shit. “And his instructions were clear. You’re staying here.”

“And you’re what? My babysitter?” Stiles gaped. “In case it wasn’t clear before, you’re a terrible babysitter.”

“In case it wasn’t clear before, I’m not a babysitter.” Derek mocked. Dick. “Go back inside before you fall out.”

“You’d catch me if I did.”

“Yes. But that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t go back inside.”

“I’m not going anywhere!” Stiles protested, then lost his balance and stumbled further out the window. He managed to grab onto the edge of the latch and steady himself, losing his pride somewhere along the way. “Crap.”

“You’re an idiot.” Derek actually _smiled_ a little, the corners of his lips turning up, before it was gone and his usual _you’re an idiot_ expression was back. Stiles wished it could have been different. “Go back inside.”

Stiles considered it for a long moment whilst they both stared each other down. Then, after finding some courage, he managed, “Will you at least come in?”

“No.” Well, that answered that.

“Fine, to hell with you.” Stiles slid back inside and sunk onto his mattress with a pained huff. He put his face in his hands and exhaled a long breath. His nose ached but he ignored it, already resigned to the fact that he looked like he’d been on the losing side of a bar fight. He hoped it would heal before he went back to the academy, at least.

_If_ he went back.

And Derek refused to come inside. He’d obviously refused to acknowledge whatever Stiles was feeling for him. And he _had_ to have sensed it by now, decidedly doing nothing about it. His dad had scared him off, or maybe Derek just decided he’d rather be alone than be with him. Both logical conclusions, and both making him feel like shit.

He sighed into his hands and sulked. Scott was wrong. He thought Derek felt something too, but he didn’t. Stiles was in this mess by himself. He’d be better off going back to Washington, leaving the past where it belonged. In the past.

There was a movement above him, the distinct sound of boots manoeuvring on the roof tiles. Then Derek was hoisting himself down and climbing through Stiles’ window without so much as a grunt of effort. Stupid werewolves.

Stiles looked up at him in disbelief, having already accepted the fact that Derek didn’t feel anything for him. Then, why the hell did he change his mind and come inside?

“You’re an idiot.” Derek grunted from the window, making Stiles put his face back in his hands and frown. He didn’t even feel like coming up with a witty retort, because what was the point? He didn’t have the energy left for it.

For whatever reason, Derek sighed and sat down next to him. He tipped the mattress in his favour, making Stiles grab onto the sheets so he wouldn’t lose his balance and lean into him. Because that would be the worst thing ever for his pained heart.

“Let me see.” Derek ordered, making Stiles glance at him automatically. Then Derek was scanning his face like he was assessing the damage. Stiles held his breath until Derek frowned and shook his head. “You really do need a babysitter.”

“What? Because of this?” Stiles pointed to his nose dramatically, but his heart wasn’t in it. Derek knew it too. But if he could _stop_ looking at him with those big, sad eyes, that’d be great. “This is nothing. And besides, I already have a babysitter.”

“Not a very good one.” Derek said strangely, like he was admitting something terrible. When in reality, the babysitter thing was meant to be a joke, so why did Stiles start feeling bad about it all of a sudden?

“It’s not your fault.” Stiles offered once Derek looked away. “I’m not in control of my limbs at the best of times, never mind when I get the crap scared out of me.”

“Your dad was just concerned.”

“Concerned is fine. And totally justified. But kicking you out? Not okay.”

“He didn’t kick me out.” Derek looked at him again with a grimace, hands clasped against his thighs. “He didn’t do anything that wasn’t deserved.”

“Deserved?” Stiles parroted like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “What did he tell you?”

Derek started shaking his head. “He told me to use the door from now on.”

“And?”

“And that he didn’t expect me to tell him anything. That he’d talk to you instead.”

Huh. So that’d explain why Derek wasn’t more freaked out. But then, Scott said he’d been acting weird when he got back to the loft. “And that worried you?”

“Yes.” Derek nodded smally, frowning. “I should have let him know I was here. I shouldn’t be dropping by unannounced.”

“Oh, come on, when has that ever stopped you before?” Stiles cracked a smile. “You used to hide in here and wait for me after class. And my dad was always home those times. _And_ you were basically a fugitive, so. Hell, he should have expected it by now.”

Derek looked at him strangely for a second before relaxing, the tension fizzling out of his shoulders in waves. Stiles felt breathless, since this kind of intimacy between them wasn’t exactly new but it sure as hell felt like it. He felt like he was traipsing around on eggshells with Derek, never really knowing what was going to happen next if he stepped on any toes.

The shock of it overwhelmed him at first, since he hadn’t expected it, but then the reality of Derek placing his palm on his Stiles’ forehead hit. Derek’s hand was large and warm, pressing against his battered skin and soothing him. He was taking some of his pain – which admittedly wasn’t much, but he sure as hell wasn’t about to ask him to stop. He watched as Derek’s arms sprouted black, vein-like marks that travelled up his forearm and disappeared under his sleeve.

Adorable, really. Totally adorable. Derek was a softie sometimes. Stiles always knew it, but now he had the evidence.

Scott had taken his pain too, but this was different. Derek was warmer, softer, _better._ A lot better. He was _right._ Stiles’ stomach started going again, and he furrowed his brow to concentrate on not giving away _too_ many of his feelings in one fell swoop.

Derek, however, obviously caught on. He frowned at Stiles. “Are you still in pain?”

Oh. He thought it was _pain_ and not _overwhelming and debilitating feelings._ Maybe _that’s_ why Derek acted the way he did. Was Stiles really that good at masking his emotions? He wouldn’t bet his life on it, that was for sure.

“No, I’m not. Don’t.” Stiles caught Derek’s wrist gingerly when he was about to pull away, and put his palm back to his forehead. “It’s good.”

Derek didn’t look convinced but he kept his palm pressed to Stiles’ forehead anyway. Stiles kept his hand on Derek’s wrist a little longer than necessary, before dropping it back onto his knee and exhaling. He closed his eyes and basked in the weird, pain-free aura surrounding him. It was like a weird healing spell that cast a strange glow around him and his surroundings.

“You’re good.” Stiles mumbled, mostly to himself. Derek laughed quietly in response.

“Am I?”

“Mhm, so good.” …shit, that was too much.

“You’re good too.” Or maybe not. Stiles opened his eyes to find Derek staring at him intently, like he was concentrating. Derek thought he was _good too._ Okay, so, it was something. It wasn’t exactly a declaration of love or anything but he would take it. For now.

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” Derek said quietly, then sniffed the air intently like he’d smelled something in the draft coming from the open window. Stiles eyed him curiously.

“What? What is it?” Stiles stammered, worrying about Scott and Malia. Derek shook his head firmly, then slid his hand down Stiles’ face and rested it on his bruised cheek. Oh, god, that was way better than on his forehead. A million times better.

“Better?”

“You literally read my mind.” Stiles inhaled shakily and watched Derek carefully, trying to judge his reaction. “You don’t need to do this, you know.”

“I know.” Derek confirmed, but kept his hand there, letting the heat spread all the way to Stiles’ chest and settle there indefinitely. Was that the healing thing, or something else? He couldn’t really tell. All that matter was Derek touching him _willingly._ He wasn’t about to push his luck, so he kept his lips to himself.

“You’re feeling guilty, right?” Stiles asked. “For my nose, I mean.”

“No.” Derek shook his head and smiled fully, and holy _shit._ That smile? Going to kill him some day. “It was your own fault.”

Stiles scoffed in response. “Well, if you’d have just met me halfway—”

He clamped his mouth shut instantly because there was no way he had meant to say that. No way in hell. He couldn’t believe his own mouth had betrayed him, just like it had the other night. He squeezed his eyes closed and tensed for a beating that never came, and after a long moment he cracked an eye open cautiously. Derek was looking at him carefully with his lips in a tight line.

Technically – _technically –_ Stiles was right. If Derek _had_ met him halfway, Stiles wouldn’t have fallen and almost broken his nose. But then he’d probably have had to watch his dad have a stroke or something at the sight. Which wouldn’t have been good either.

After a good few minutes where Derek didn’t say anything, Stiles started feeling uneasy. Like he’d said the wrong thing or opened the wrong door, and was just waiting for Derek to pop a vein or something and crumble in front of him. Abruptly, he climbed to his feet, leaving Derek’s hand suspended in mid-air in shock, then clambered out the door.

Derek was on him in a second, naturally. “Where are you going? You’re supposed to—”

“I have to pee.” Stiles said over his shoulder, watching Derek pause in the doorway. “Unless you have to babysit me doing that too.”

Derek’s face contorted in distaste, so Stiles took it as a victory and locked himself in the bathroom. He sat down on the toilet lid and sighed, wondering why the hell this was his life anyway. He fidgeted with the strings on his hoodie in thought. This whole situation was really getting to him – obviously – but it wasn’t the main focus here. He’d come back to California for a reason, and that reason really wasn’t Derek.

Even if he made the trip a lot more enjoyable – nope, not even going to go there. Scott could be in danger and they were just sitting around doing nothing. Derek might have a superpowered werewolf nose to sniff out danger, but Stiles definitely didn’t. And he wasn’t about to let something happen to his best friend because he was too scrawny and human to help.

His dad would forgive him. Again. He always did.

Stiles glanced at the bathroom window curiously, wondering if Derek would notice if he’d just hop out of there and disappear. He probably would, but that didn’t stop him from trying. He opened the latch painfully slowly so it wouldn’t make a sound, then made quick work of climbing out and landing on the slippery tiles on the roof.

The air was cold and bitter, pinching at the tips of his ears when the wind picked up. He carefully – and quietly – manoeuvred around the side of the house, doing his best not to slip and fall and, you know, break his _neck_ or something. Then he was landing on the wooden panels of the porch and taking off towards his car.

He scrambled towards it and felt around in his pockets for his keys, panicked and rushing since he knew Derek would probably have heard something by now. Which didn’t matter, because Stiles would definitely die trying. There was a rough tug on his arm like something had crashed into his side, sending him off balance and stumbling against the asphalt as he tried to regain his composure.

Derek. Clutching at his arm. Snarling. Now was totally not the time to get turned on.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Derek growled lowly but he didn’t bare his teeth, clutching at Stiles’ arm painfully. So his not-so-stealthy escape attempt hadn’t gone as planned but honestly, he’d gotten a lot farther than he’d expected to. Derek was furious, naturally, since that was an emotion he was familiar with. His eyes were hard and dark under the street light, staring at Stiles like he was ready to kill him.

But Stiles knew he wouldn’t do it. He never did. No matter how much he wanted to.

“What’s it look like?” Stiles tried to wiggle his arm away but Derek wasn’t having it, digging his claws in just enough so he could feel them prick his skin, but not enough to draw blood. “I’m escaping, obviously. In case you don’t remember, I don’t really handle being held against my will all too well. I’m a natural flight risk.”

“We’re going back inside. Now.” Derek grumbled, cool and hard and low and only a little bit intimidating. But Stiles held his ground and fought back, doing his best to remain in the same place despite Derek pulling at him. He obviously wasn’t trying too hard, though, since Stiles knew he could just tear his arm off and be done with it. And that was something.

“No way in hell am I going back in there. I’m leaving. Let me go.”

“Are you an idiot?” Derek barked at him and spooked a few birds in the nearby trees. Stiles flinched as they flew overhead, the noise of their flapping wings sounding really loud in the tense silence of the street. “They don’t need you.”

“Like hell they don’t!” Stiles shot back. “Let me go, you freaking weirdo.”

Derek did nothing but tighten his grip, making Stiles’ wince in pain. Dude, not cool. Derek wasn’t letting up whatsoever, and suddenly he thought it might have been a bad idea to escape in the first place.

“You want to help too.” He tried, taking a hold of Derek’s shirt and fisting his hands in the fabric there. “I can feel it. So, why don’t you give up the tough guy act and let me go?”

“You can’t feel anything.” Derek hissed. “You’re a human. Out of the two of us, who has the better senses?”

Wow, _dick._ If Derek hadn’t had such a stupid handsome face, Stiles might have clocked him. “Oh, really? I have it on good authority that you _suck_ at sensing anything.”

“What?”

“You suck at using your senses!” Stiles barked, annoyed now, clutching at Derek’s shirt tighter. “You don’t even know what’s going on with anybody, do you?

And he didn’t. He didn’t know anything, did he? Derek was completely incapable of understanding anything that wasn’t kill, maim and torture. Not anymore, at least, and certainly not when it came to Stiles and his disarray of feelings. Not that Stiles knew any better, but at least he _felt_ it. And that was more than he could say for Derek.

“I don’t?” Derek looked feral suddenly, an acutely menacing expression coming over his features. It didn’t really sound like he was asking a question, like he knew what Stiles was getting at.

Stiles felt himself gulp and shake his head, unsure where this was going. Derek looked angry up until the second he didn’t. There was a tug of a smirk on his lips and Stiles felt himself staring at it when the werewolf leaned closer, getting both hands on Stiles’ upper arms.

“You don’t know anything.” Stiles’ breath was hitching in his throat at the proximity, but Derek seemed to be handling himself just fine. Just…was Derek going to kiss him? Was this really happening? Was this his way of telling Stiles he knew about his _feelings_ or whatever?

Too many questions, not enough air. And not enough time because Derek was closing in on him.

To Stiles’ surprise – and disappointment – Derek tilted his head and leaned in lower, nose brushing the side of his earlobe. Stiles felt himself shiver at the contact, their argument momentarily forgotten since Derek was _breathing in his ear._ And was he _sniffing?_ Oh, god, he was _scenting_ Stiles. Oh my god.

“I don’t know anything?” Derek asked, whispering somewhere near Stiles’ ear. He could feel the heat of his words against his skin, and it sent an electrical current through him straight to his groin. Oh, god, not _now._ He wasn’t a teenager anymore, this shouldn’t be happening. Damn his stupid body and stupid _Derek_ for doing this to him.

Derek, possibly having sensed his arousal, tightened his hold on Stiles’ arms and growled softly into his ear. And if Stiles’ wasn’t bewildered enough, Derek slid his hands achingly slowly down his sides and settled at his hips.

“No?” Stiles managed to make it sound like a question considering he wasn’t sure of anything anymore. The only thing he could see and hear and feel was Derek surrounding him, suffocating him from the inside out. Not a bad way to go.

Derek hummed thoughtfully against his ear, his stubble brushing against the side of Stiles’ face _marvelously._ He dug his thumbs into the hollows of Stiles’ hips and Stiles let out a startled gasp, sounding more strangled that intended.

Then he was gone, letting Stiles go and walking away towards his car. Stiles was left a quivering mess, standing stupidly at the edge of his jeep and watching him go.

“You’re letting me go?” Stiles asked loudly, wondering what the hell had just happened and why Derek had stopped. Derek didn’t answer him anyway, reaching his car and opening the door to the driver’s side and stopping to raise an eyebrow. Stiles patted himself down to collect himself but also look for his keys.

A distinct jingling made him look back over at Derek, who was smirking playfully. He held up a pair of keys in his finger and shook them. _Stiles’_ keys. He’d took them. He’d distracted Stiles’ enough to steal his keys from him. And here Stiles thought Derek _wanted_ to touch him.

“If you’re going after them, you’re not going alone.” Derek said firmly, shoving Stiles’ keys into his jeans pocket and giving him a pointed look. “Get in.”

“You’re an asshole, you know that, right?”

“Shut up, Stiles.”

“You know, after spending the entire night getting absolutely nowhere, the last thing I wanted to see was your face, Stilinski.”

“Oh, lighten up, Mal.” Stiles talked Malia down, who was looking dishevelled and annoyed. Scott was having some kind of hushed conversation with Derek back at the car. They’d managed to find Scott and Malia outside one of the place left on the list – a dilapidated ramshackle of a comic book store at the edge of town. A few clicks away from the gas station they’d searched before. “At least I can distract you from the abomination that is this evening.”

“Stop calling me Mal or I’m going to chew your fingers off.” Malia scowled. “One at a time.”

“Now that’s just unnecessary.” Stiles contested and rolled his eyes. “Then how would I do my school work? It’s hard to type without fingers, you know.”

Malia scoffed in response and shoved at Stiles’ shoulder. His good shoulder. So maybe Malia’s threats were empty at the end of the day, but that didn’t mean Stiles would drop his guard around her. They’d been intimate once, so he knew what she was really capable of.

Scott was grimacing by the time they made their way back over to him and Derek. He hadn’t been pleased that Derek had disobeyed a direct order from him – to keep Stiles’ away. Probably Stiles’ scent was all over him after whatever the hell had happened back at the house, leaving little to the imagination. Derek had used Stiles’ feelings against him to get what he wanted, and that was _so totally not cool._ But hey, that meant Derek knew about them, right?

He knew about them and used them to his advantage. What an asshole. Except Stiles couldn’t help but feel closer to him after it. Derek hadn’t been disgusted, or angry, or slapped him senseless. He’d actually initiated something between them. He felt the pull too, right? That’s what it had to mean.

The Derek he knew before all this would never have done something like that, he’d have probably slammed Stiles’ head against the side of his jeep and dragged him back inside.

Hell, past Derek would never have agreed to babysit Stiles in the first place.

“—and if this comes back to me, you’re going down with me.” Scott finished, obviously having a go at Derek. Derek looked impassive at him, like he couldn’t care less. And that didn’t do anything to ease Scott’s anger. “His dad will be furious!”

“It was Stiles’ decision.” Derek said, making Stiles shake his head speedily to save himself from Scott’s anguish. “And it was the right one. You’ll need our help if you find the nest.”

“We haven’t found the nest.” Malia offered, leaning back against the car. Derek didn’t look too happy about it but let her lean against the Camaro anyway.

“You’ll need us when you do.”

“I told you to keep him safe.” Scott barked, looking at Stiles like he’d been betrayed.

“I am. I’m here, aren’t I? All limbs intact.” Stiles frowned. “And it’s not like I got here without a fight.”

Derek eyed him cautiously, like he didn’t want him to elaborate any further than that. And that was just fine – what happened between them could be a secret for now. Totally not like Scott couldn’t smell it on them already.

“You’re lucky we didn’t find anything.” Scott sighed and looked back at Derek. Even if the ex-Alpha had a good few inches on Scott, it didn’t seem to bother him. “Otherwise, this would be a lot worse.”

“A _lot_ worse.” Malia added, like she had any right to interrupt in the first place, then raised an eyebrow over at Stiles. “How’d you manage to get away?”

“Hey, I can be convincing when I really wanna be.” Stiles defended himself the only way he knew how to – with humour. And some half-lies, but those were expected. “And I think I proved myself the last time you ran into this thing. Remember that time? With the dog kennel? The chunk of wood sticking outta your arm? None of this ringing a bell?”

“You’re a real pain in my ass, Stilinski.” Malia snarled and grabbed Stiles by the arm and twisted it painfully around his back. He yelped at the shock of it and wriggled to get free. “I should tell your dad what happened and let him deal with you.”

“You wouldn’t.” Stiles choked out. “You need me.”

“Like hell I do."

“Let him go.” Derek ordered from somewhere behind them. Stiles managed to turn his head around enough to see Derek’s strong hand on Malia’s shoulder in warning. Malia looked down at it, offended, then bared her teeth. Derek tightened his grip and he repeated, “Let go.”

The sound of Scott sighing brought Malia to her senses and she abruptly released her hold on Stiles’ arm. He rolled his shoulder painfully and spun around, glaring.

But then Derek was _right up in his personal space_ , taking a hold of his forearm and plastering himself to Stiles’ side. Woah. Protective much?

_Nice._

“Enough.” Scott clamoured and got everyone’s attention, and Stiles didn’t miss the way Derek’s grip tightened on his arm as he turned and looked at Scott defensively. The Alpha wasn’t having this commotion – this battle of dominance within his pack – so enough was enough.

“There’s enough violence in the world right now without you fighting with each other.” Scott snarled, his eyes glowing like small embers ready to set ablaze. “Stiles, your dad will have me killed if you don’t get back home right now.”

“He doesn’t even know I’m here.” Stiles offered sheepishly, wriggling out of Derek’s grip (even though he didn’t really want to, but Scott was more important right now). “It’s fine, he won’t know anything. And he won’t _do_ anything either. You know those were just empty threats, right?”

“That doesn’t matter.” Scott shook his head and looked away. “You both heard what I said. And you both disobeyed me.”

“Disobeyed you?” Derek mocked incredulously. Stiles glanced over at him, concerned where this was going. The last thing he needed was bad blood between two of the most important people in his life.

“You heard me. I told you to watch over Stiles—”

“I didn’t agree to be a babysitter.”

“Get over yourself.” Malia scoffed, prompting Derek to roll his eyes. “I don’t really care for this face-off between the two of you. What’s important is we didn’t find the Wendigo, and we’re out of places to look. How ‘bout we focus on that and the two of you can resume your Alpha pissing contest later?”

Stiles choked a little, feeling like he would so totally kiss Malia right now if he hadn’t been rooted to the spot. And the girl had a point. Derek and Scott could halt their argument for the time being – there would always be an opportunity later to fight to the death, you know, if they didn’t get eaten by the Wendigo running around Beacon Hills.

“She’s right.” Stiles offered. Scott shot him a look. “What? She is. And this isn’t helping anybody. It’s certainly not helping Kate Austen who, hello? Still captured. And we’re arguing here because we came to help? Totally not the priority right now. And besides,” Stiles glanced over at Derek, who had side-stepped away from him back towards his car, “I basically forced Derek to bring me here. It’s not his fault.”

“Don’t defend him.” Scott shot back angrily. “You might be able to wiggle your way out of my orders, but he can’t. It’s bullshit.”

“This conversation is bullshit.” Malia yelled back, makes Stiles scoff at the lot of them.

“You know what? Fine.” Stiles threw his hands in the air. “Be that way. But don’t come crawling back to me when you need help again, Scott, because newsflash: you need me whether you like it or not. And no orders you could give are ever going to change that.”

“You don’t know anything.”

“Oh, really? What was that you told me the other day, huh?” Stiles shook his head angrily, tensing his fists at this sides. “You begged me to stay here, right? Or did I just hear it wrong?”

“That’s not fair.” Scott said weakly, glancing at Malia who obviously wasn’t aware such a conversation had ever happened. Derek hovered stiffly by the car like he wanted nothing more than to hop inside and leave. “You’re my best friend, but I have to be able to trust you. If you’re going to keep ignoring the things I say, then I can’t.”

“Then don’t.” Stiles shot back. “Don’t trust me. Don’t trust the one person who’s stuck by you through everything!”

“You left!” Scott started heaving, his chest inflating and deflating at an alarming speed. “You left and you weren’t coming back! That’s what you call sticking by me?”

“ _That’s_ not fair!”

“Scott—” Malia started, intent on diffusing the situation between them before it turned into something she couldn’t stop. Scott shook his head in frustration and his eyes zoned in on Derek, who met his gaze harshly like he was ready to fight back.

“Who do you think you are?” Scott asked lowly, watching Derek carefully. “You just come back here and take over everything—”

“I haven’t taken over anything.” Derek said thickly. His body was stiff and tense, and Stiles’ saw his hands clench into fists at his sides. God, this was not happening. None of this would help anyone – it definitely wouldn’t help Kate Austen. Nobody knew what the hell they were doing anymore. “I came back to help.”

“We don’t need your help. We never did.”

“You know that isn’t true.”

“It doesn’t matter!” Scott snarled, prompting Malia to take a step towards him with her hands raised. It didn’t matter though, considering if Scott decided to attack Derek she’d have no choice but to defend her Alpha. That’s just how it worked. But not for Stiles, who was standing like a statue at the edge of the situation.

“It does matter.” Derek said impassively. “And you know it.”

“Stop telling me what I know and what I don’t. You can’t even control your own senses.”

“What?” Malia asked, curious but guarded. Stiles surged forwards towards the Camaro with his arms raised because there was no way he and Derek’s _situation_ was about to become the topic of this…discussion. Or any discussion, for that matter.

“Forget it.” He snapped, giving Scott a harsh look that conveyed just how close he was to disowning him. Again. “Derek, come on.”

Derek looked at him like he was crazy for a short moment, before apparently deciding that leaving was truly the best option here. He climbed into the car and keyed the ignition, the noise of the engine tearing through the harsh and tense silence of the group like a blade. Stiles opened the passenger door with a second glance at Scott, who was past looking furious and settling somewhere in between betrayed and pained.

When Scott got over himself, Stiles would forgive him. He always did.

“When you’re done being an asshole, I’ll be at home. You know, following your orders.”

Then Stiles was climbing into the car and closing the door, not about to wait for Scott’s witty retort. Derek glanced over at him cautiously, as if he was trying to convey how serious the situation was, and how meaningful it was that he’d chosen to leave with Derek rather than stay with Scott. But Stiles wasn’t worried, offering a short nod before Derek started reversing away from the scene.

Scott was being a dick anyway. And this didn’t mean anything. Stiles wasn’t choosing Derek over him, hell no, he was just extracting himself from the situation until Scott got a grip of himself and realised Stiles was probably the best chance he had at catching the Wendigo. Scott always had moments like this right before they struck gold – gold being the Wendigo, in this scenario – so, again, Stiles wasn’t worried. At least, not that much.

There was always the chance Scott completely misunderstood everything – something he was great at doing – and actually thought this meant his suspicions were true. That Stiles was breaking from the pack and choosing to follow Derek. Malia should have been able to talk some sense into him though, so maybe he’d listen to her.

“He’ll forgive you.” Derek’s voice broke through his turmoil, bringing Stiles back from a borderline panic attack. The werewolf obviously sensed it.

Stiles looked over at him carefully, unsure of this new unspoken rule between them. Was intimacy a thing now? Were they accustomed to having these kind of conversations? “I know he will. I just don’t want him to think this means something, you know?”

“It does mean something.” Derek replied with a sideways glance at Stiles. “But not what he thinks it does. He’ll forgive you.”

“He’ll think I’m following you now.” Stiles said quietly, looking down at his hands. “He thought it before. Not a lot things telling him otherwise.”

“I don’t want it.” Just as Stiles’ body filled with an uncontrollable aguish – somewhere between heartbreak and confusion – Derek continued. “I meant I don’t want to take his place as Alpha. He doesn’t need to worry about that. And he shouldn’t worry about you. He knows you won’t leave him.”

He’d never really heard Derek talk so much in one sitting, so it was as much of a shock to the system as everything else was. But not as much as his overwhelming sense of rejection before Derek elaborated, not that he didn’t _want_ him, that he didn’t want to be Alpha. That was something, right?

Stiles wasn’t about to bring it up, settling for looking down at his hands once more and exhaling. “I hope you’re right.”

“It’ll be fine.” Derek said quietly, as if he was trying to make Stiles feel better with little to no effect.

“You don’t know that. But I appreciate the thought all the same. You’re alright sometimes, you know that right? Better than alright, actually. You’re—” Stiles paused, wondering where the hell he was going with this, “You’re a good person. I mean, even though you do everything in your power to make everyone think the opposite. Hey – don’t look at me like that. You know I’m right. It gets old, this whole _I’m A Douche_ persona you’ve got going on there. Wouldn’t hurt if you let our hair down once in a while.”

“Let the wolf out of its cage, you mean?” Derek smirked. Stiles beamed back at him, swivelling around in his seat and angling his body towards the other man.

“Totally! I mean, it’s gonna be exhausting right? Fighting all the stuff you’re feeling. And you’re with me now—” Aww, crap, that wasn’t how that was meant to come out. “I mean, literally. You’re with me literally, right now. Right here. What am I gonna do, seriously? Who am I gonna tell?”

“Scott.” Derek gave him the stink eye.

“Like he would believe me. He already thinks you’re emotionally constipated enough as it is.”

“Thanks.”

“But I know you’re not. You were happy once, you know? So I know you’re capable of it. And I know you’re capable of smiling every once in a while. Come on. Try it.”

“I’m not going to smile just because you told me to.” But…ha!

“You twitched.”

“I didn’t.”

“You’re doing it right now!” Stiles gestured to Derek’s mouth, but didn’t dare touch him. And again, Derek’s lips quirked at the edges like he was fighting a smile with everything he had. God, how restricted could this guy _be?_ “Come on. Just a little one?”

“No.”

Stiles tried everything. He tried pulling stupid faces, he tried telling some incredibly entertaining dad jokes, but Derek wouldn’t budge. “Don’t make me tickle you.”

“Werewolves don’t get ticklish.” Derek rolled his eyes half-heartedly. “We’re here.”

Oh, that had been a fast drive, hadn’t it? Stiles looked out the window towards his house, riddled with darkness save for the flickering street light above them. He felt himself sighing, knowing he’d end up back here sooner or later. His dad wasn’t home – no squad car in the driveway – so that was something.

“Come on.” Derek cut the engine and stepped out of the car. “You need to go back in the window. The front door is locked, and I don’t have the key.”

“Speaking of keys…” Stiles held out a hand to Derek once he managed to spill out of the car, waiting patiently with an expectant look on his face. Derek furrowed his brow and circled the car, fishing Stiles’ keys out of his jeans pocket and putting them in his open hand. “Thank you. You know, you could have just asked for them since you were going to drive me anyway.”

“You wouldn’t have given them to me.” Okay, _true._ Not that Stiles was complaining. Hell, if Derek ever touched him like that again he’d probably give him whatever he wanted.

Except when he was instructed to mount Derek’s back so he could climb back onto the roof. “Uh, dude. I can climb up by myself. You don’t need to help me.”

“I know I don’t.” Derek said softly, then proceeded to crouch in front of Stiles and turn his head and looking at him like he knew he would do it anyway. And, _damn._ Derek wanted to help him, who was Stiles to refuse?

Especially since he got to wrap his arms around Derek’s neck and press himself against his back, letting himself be hoisted up. He wrapped his legs around Derek’s waist and held on tight as the werewolf climbed onto the roof easily, gliding across the tiles.

It would have been demeaning any other time, and maybe harmful to his fragile human pride, but he couldn’t bring himself to care when Derek was strong against him, holding onto Stiles’ arm with one hand and using the other to brace against the window. He manoeuvred Stiles easily around his back and carefully pushed him inside. Stiles landed on the ground in his bedroom with a soft _oof._

Derek didn’t come inside, instead holding himself up on the window with his fingers wrapped around the wood. He watched Stiles carefully, and Stiles felt himself crumble underneath his gaze.

“Don’t leave the house again.” Derek told him, adjusting his weight. “I’ll know.”

“You got a built-in Stiles-radar I don’t know about?” Stiles joked back, already slightly panicking if it were true, but then Derek shook his head. “I won’t. My dad’ll be home soon anyway.”

Derek appeared to believe him, and after a short moment of what looked like contemplation, he dropped down from the window and landed silently on the grass below. Stiles peered out the window after him and watched him go, disappearing around the side of the house and back to his car.

An interesting night, to say the least. Stiles found himself thinking of his best friend and what that scene must have looked like to him. Stiles getting into Derek’s car and them driving away. That couldn’t have felt good. But Stiles wasn’t about to start feeling guilty about anything, since Scott was the one acting like an asshole.

So he’d wait for something to happen. He’d wait and see who came back first. Derek, possibly, might turn up again at some point and only strengthen the growing tension between them, or maybe Scott would waddle through his bedroom door with his tail between his legs.

Stiles could wait.

_tbc_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is not beta'd so I'll do my best to fix any mistakes as soon as I can! 
> 
> Hope everyone is enjoying it so far ♥


	6. Danger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Chapter Title translation:** Danger - Danger (duh)

**Lydia:** _Are you with Derek now?_

Well, that was a loaded question.

 **Stiles:** _???_

 **Lydia:** _Malia told me what happened. Did you two really break from the pack and go off on your own? That really sounds like something I should have been consulted about first._

That would be a firm no.

Stiles shook his head and let his damp hair sprinkle the room with droplets of lukewarm water. He wasn’t long out of the shower, having been woken up by his dad for breakfast in the morning. Then he’d escaped his dad’s scrutinising gaze and locked himself in the bathroom to get ready for whatever monsters he’d encounter that day.

His dad hadn’t suspected a thing, meaning Scott hadn’t told him about his successful escape attempt. He hadn’t said much, actually, since he was already battling with some internal turmoil about his son dating a werewolf – _dad, we’re not even dating yet, god._ It was the most uncomfortable cereal Stiles had ever eaten in his entire life.

 **Stiles:** _i didn’t break from the pack_

 **Lydia:** _That’s really what it sounds like. What the hell were you two thinking?_

 **Stiles:** _scott was being a dick_

 **Lydia:** _That’s nothing new. I don’t remember you scurrying away before, especially not with Derek Hale. I’m coming over._

Stiles gulped.

 **Stiles:** _use the front door_

 **Lydia:** _I’m not a wolf. I’m a human being and I am capable of using a door. I’m also capable of handling your dad, believe it or not. Years of practise, in case you’ve forgotten that._

Well, shit, she was right. Stiles was done for.

He hurriedly finished getting dressed, throwing on his usual mess of shirts and jeans, and clambering down the stairs. His dad startled in the hallway, spilling coffee onto the floor with a grimace.

“What the—” He paused when he saw the terrified expression on Stiles’ face. “What is it?”

“Lydia’s coming over.” Stiles managed, breathing harsh from his half-sprint down the stairs and near miss colliding with the front door. He scowled over at it passively, like it’d done him wrong somehow. “Now. Soon, I mean. I’m telling you in advance.”

“And she’s using the front door?” Stiles shot his dad a look, prompting him to shrug and shake his head. He took a sip of his coffee and wiped at the liquid on the floor with his foot, soaking his sock with it. “Good luck.”

“I’m gonna need it. Maybe a Kevlar vest, too. You’ve still got one in your closet, right?”

“Don’t be dramatic.” His dad shook his head and retreated into the living room, intent on finishing his morning in peace without post-teenage drama. Stiles felt jealous suddenly since his dad’s only drama of the day was what to have for lunch. He didn’t know how good he had it.

After a lot of biting his thumbnail and drumming his fingers on the kitchen table, the doorbell went. A loud and irritating jingle echoed throughout the house, feeling a lot like a bad omen. Then Stiles got the hell over himself because this was _Lydia_ for crying out loud. He could totally handle Lydia.

“Good afternoon, traitor.” _Well._ No, he was dead. Lydia looked irritated but masked it well, hidden somewhere behind her lipstick and long eyelashes. They fluttered against her cheeks beautifully, terrifyingly, like she could turn Stiles to stone. He wouldn’t doubt it.

He ushered her inside and into the kitchen without a word, knowing if she was about to rip him to pieces then at least the kitchen floor would be easier to clean.

“I’m not a traitor.” He tried, holding Lydia’s upper arms simply to stop himself from losing balance. “I already told you, I’m not leaving the pack. I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Well, wouldn’t be the first time.” Lydia wriggled away from him and sashayed towards the table and added some distance between them. Both literally and emotionally, so it seemed. “Listen to me, Stiles, what you did last night was really out of order. My Alpha is moping, and that’s on you. And it’s on you to fix it.”

“Me? I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“You snuck out last night, didn’t you?” Lydia asked loudly, like she knew his dad would hear. Stiles flailed his arms around in the air to stop her. “It’s a yes or no question.”

“You did _what?_ ” His dad barked from the living room, and after some commotion like he’d tripped over himself on his way into the kitchen, he caught one look at Stiles’ shocked face and huffed. “I thought Derek was watching the house to stop this from happening.”

“Derek drove him there.” Lydia informed him, because she was intent on ruining Stiles’ life in one swoop. “In all honesty, it was kind of stupid of Scott to leave him with Derek – who obviously doesn’t have a back bone when it comes to your son.”

“I should’ve seen this coming, I suppose.”

“Definitely.” Lydia confirmed, then smiled sheepishly at the Sheriff. “It’s okay, none of us expected this.”

“Expected what, exactly?” Stiles flailed his arms around like propellers. “I’m right here, you know!”

“I’m disappointed, son.” Aw, crap. “But I’m not surprised.”

“I wasn’t—I mean I didn’t—I’m _sorry._ ” Stiles huffed out a breath and cursed himself and his luck. “I didn’t expect you both to gang up on me like this.”

“We’re not ganging up on you.” Lydia told him honestly, and for a second, just a second, Stiles thought he could see some tenderness in her eyes. “We just want to know what’s going on.”

“A lot.” Stiles managed. His dad shot him a stern look so he’d keep going. “I mean, Derek and me, okay we went there – I _know_ you told me not to, but come on, dad? Have you met me? There was no way I was staying out of it. And it’s not Scott’s fault. He listened to you.”

“There’s a first time for anything.” His dad grunted, not seeming comforted by the fact. Lydia nodded at Stiles to keep going, so he did.

“And Scott was pissed, obviously. He spewed some crap about Derek disobeying him, that he was tired of it. That he didn’t appreciate the fact he was taking over everything – which he wasn’t, uh, I mean, he’s _not._ He’s totally not. He doesn’t even want the job, so to speak. He doesn’t want to be Alpha. He’s happy for Scott to be – well, not _happy_ , but—”

“Son…” His dad pinched the bridge of his nose at Stiles’ babbling. Bless him for putting up with him for so many years.

“I mean. I don’t know what I mean, god. And Derek and I—well, I guess I—we—” Stiles paused shakily, eyes flicking between his dad and Lydia. “Dad, could you give us a minute? Please.”

The Sheriff took direction well, knowing what Stiles was getting at. He didn’t offer any sympathetic or reassuring glances, though, and instead communicated silently with his son that their conversation was far from over. Stiles had a lot of explaining to do.

Once his dad had vacated the room, slid into his shoes and left for work, Lydia cleared her throat. “Stiles. You don’t have to tell me.”

“What?”

“I already know.” Lydia said quietly, watching Stiles with wide eyes with something like concern in them. “I know about you and Derek. I mean, it isn’t hard to see what’s going on between the two of you, even if he’s too dense to figure it all out.”

“Lydia, I—” Stiles croaked, feeling sweaty. “It’s not what you think.”

“It’s absolutely what I think. And I’m not mad. Believe me, if I was, you would know.”

“Then what are you?”

“I’m not anything.” Lydia said with a shrug of her shoulders. She took a step forward and took Stiles’ hand in her own. Her fingers were cold but soft, and Stiles felt himself frown down at her. “Stiles, honey, it’s okay. We’ve been apart for a long time, and it’s normal. I understand it. We might have history, but you have history with him too. History that I won’t claim to understand fully, mind you.”

“I didn’t know.” Stiles sighed, squeezing the girl’s hand inside his. “I didn’t mean for this to happen. I didn’t know about it until Scott asked me.”

Lydia actually rolled her eyes. “I know, like I said before, Scott broadcasts. And Malia was informative when I talked to her. I’ve known for a while, but I thought you’d tell me yourself.”

“I didn’t know how. I thought you were going to kill me.”

“I thought about it.” Lydia laughed, all high pitched and sweet, making Stiles’ eyes soften. “But we weren’t working. I thought we could survive the distance but we couldn’t, and even since we started I knew there was always going to be something weird between us. I mean, we’ve known each other how long?”

“A long time.” Stiles said thoughtfully, wondering where she was going with it. “I spent a long time wanting you. My entire life, actually.”

“And let me guess. When you had me, you didn’t know what to do, am I right?” Lydia took his silence as confirmation of the fact, literally reading his mind. “I get it. It’s my own fault, really, for not giving you the time of day before. But there’s no one to blame. Whatever happens, happens.”

“You’re amazing, you know.” Stiles promised. “And I love you.”

“I know.” Lydia smiled sweetly and let go of his hand, looking away towards the doorway in thought. Stiles thought the world of her before, and now she was everything else. She was amazing, and understanding, and most of all _not mad at him._ “However…”

Shit.

“What happened with Scott needs to be fixed. He needs to know you’re still with him, in all senses of the word. You can’t let Derek come between you.”

Stiles followed her gaze towards the doorway, wondering why the hell he’d managed to get himself into such a mess. With everything going on, the last thing he needed was tension between his packmates. They needed to work together.

“It’s not like that. Scott has a lot of reservations – one’s I probably didn’t help with, fine – but Derek’s not here to challenge him. He’s only here to help.”

“He’s here for you, too.” Lydia said, gaining a side-ways glance from Stiles. “He probably only came back for you.”

“I really doubt that.”

“Why?” Lydia prompted. “You kept in contact with him, didn’t you? And that’s more than I can say for anyone else. You care about him and you’re the only one who shows it. You always have.”

“Of course I do.” Stiles shook his head and looked back at Lydia, reaching up and pushing a strand of hair back behind her ear. She smiled sweetly up at him but it wasn’t romantic anymore – it felt like she was his best friend, and that was so much better than having her mad at him. “I don’t know why I texted him, I guess I knew he’d reply. And he’s—well, he’s always been an outsider. No strings attached. I figured he needed it.”

“I’m guessing he needed you as much as you needed him.” Lydia rubbed her thumb over the sensitive skin of Stiles’ knuckles in thought. “It’s probably a good thing. Not just for the two of you, but for the pack. Scott and Malia fight better when they’re together, like they’re totally in sync with one another. It’s annoying, to be perfectly honest.”

“Tell me about it.” Stiles laughed easily, feeling the tension in the air fizzle into nothing. “They’re pretty insufferable sometimes. You know? Not as bad as Scott and Allison, but, you know.”

Lydia smiled sadly, making Stiles exhale heavily. Allison was a real tragedy, and no one was really over it. It was a wound that’d never heal. “They’re insufferable, but they work. The pack could use another power couple.”

“Power couple?” Stiles croaked. Lydia shot him a look like she thought he was a moron.

“What? I can’t call you a couple? It seemed pretty obvious already.”

“We’re not a couple!”

“Why not?”

“Because we’re _not._ ”

“Thanks for elaborating.” Lydia rolled her eyes and let go of Stiles’ hand. She glanced around the room in thought, observing the peeling wallpaper at the corner of the refrigerator. “I wish Allison was here. She’d know exactly what to do with the two of you.”

“She would?”

“Naturally. She had an eye for these things, maybe better than me.”

“An eye for matchmaking?”

Lydia shrugged. “Among other things. Look, Stiles, as much as I’m happy for you, I’m also incredibly frustrated. There’s too much going on right now without your relationship – or whatever it is – getting in the way. You have to talk to Scott.”

“What am I supposed to say?” Stiles thought hard about it all night, but in the end he could only surmise that Scott was the one who needed to apologise for his obtuse thinking. Stiles wouldn’t ever leave him, not for anyone. Even Derek. “He’s the one thinking I betrayed him when I didn’t. How could he even think that?”

Lydia sighed heavily and instructed him to get his shoes on. So he did, then reluctantly let her drive him over to Scott’s loft. He had no idea what he was going to say. Or what he wanted to say. Lydia was quiet the entire journey aside from making some passing comments about how Stiles really needed to update his wardrobe. But it was easy, the tension released between them, but that was only the beginning.

Stiles’ eyes zoned in on a familiar black Camaro parked outside the loft when they approached, parked neatly at the edge of the street. Derek was there. Stiles’ felt his heart rate pick up the pace once he stepped out of the car and squinted up at the menacing building.

“Derek’s been here all night.” Lydia told him informatively, sounding passive about the fact. Like Stiles wasn’t freaking out next to her. She gingerly took his hand and led him up the stairs of the loft. “He came back to make amends. I’m guessing it went well.”

“Just like that?” Stiles asked in disbelief, knowing Scott was less than forgiving at the best of times, but when it came to Derek it seemed like an impossible feat. “What did he tell him?”

“I don’t know, I didn’t stay long. I left this morning once I’d found out what had happened.” Lydia led him up the steps easily, hopping up each step with him stumbling after her, his hand sweating inside hers. “If he forgave Derek, he’ll forgive you.”

“There’s nothing to forgive!” Stiles hissed automatically, then realised the werewolves would definitely hear him and lowered his voice. Lydia squeezed his hand firmly as they approached the loft door. Stiles sighed heavily and looked at her fondly. “Thanks for dragging me here.”

“Anytime.” Lydia smiled back and it reached her eyes and made Stiles’ heart skip a beat.

Before she got a chance to open it, the door swung open in front of them and startled them both. Stiles’ squeezed Lydia’s hand automatically in shock, before Derek was standing in front of them looking surprised. Then his gaze flickered between them, descending down to their hands swaying together.

Shit.

“Derek.” Lydia acknowledged him politely, but Derek’s gaze didn’t waver from the interlinked fingers. Stiles panicked, naturally, because he didn’t want the wolf to get the wrong idea. He and Lydia had patched things up, sure, but not romantically. They’d closed that door for good now.

But it couldn’t have looked good from an outsider’s perspective.

“You’re here.” Stiles said stupidly, waiting for Derek to meet his eyes before he continued, “You good?”

“I’m fine.” Derek grunted, lips pressed into a tight line. He sniffed a few times before his gaze hardened. “Here to make amends?”

“Yep, you guessed it.” Lydia said easily, pulling at Stiles’ hand forcibly. Derek didn’t even look at her as she spoke, focusing all his attention on Stiles, who’s heart was ready to catapult out of his chest. “Although it wasn’t without some coaxing. And a little blackmail.”

“He’s in the kitchen. Excuse me.” Derek sidestepped out of the door and passed them without another word. Stiles turned around and watched him descend the stairs, shoulders tense and stiff. Oh, man.

“You don’t think he thought—” Lydia started, but Stiles was miles ahead of her.

“Definitely. Didn’t you see him sniff the air?” He grumbled in response. It’d definitely looked like they’d gotten back together after everything, which totally wasn’t the case. In a perfect world, maybe, but Derek should have known better. Stiles had already told him they were over. What a slap in the face.

“You can fix it later.” Lydia said firmly, pulling Stiles’ into the loft and toeing off her sneakers. “You’ve got bigger problems right now.”

“Stiles?” Malia looked surprised to see him as she rose to her feet and made her way over. She sniffed silently as she stopped in front of Lydia. “You two made up, then?”

“In a way.” Lydia confirmed, watching as Stiles bent down to untie his boots and kick them off his feet into a messy pile. “This isn’t exactly a social call.”

“It never is.” Malia grunted and eyed Stiles’ suspiciously. “So you’ve seen the error of your ways.”

“There wasn’t any.” Stiles shot back, watching as Malia’s eyes turned a darker shade of maroon. “I’m here to help Scott get over himself.”

“Good luck with that.”

“Kitchen?” Stiles pointed in the general vicinity of the kitchen and started moving before Malia got a chance to nod in confirmation. The loft had seen better days, flutters of papers were scattered across the floors which he recognised as his own notes on the Wendigo. Some were torn and tattered, tossed away like an afterthought. The kitchen had fared better, though, despite it looking starved of attention for over a year.

Scott was slouching over the sorry excuse for a kitchen table, which looked like it was about to topple over any second. He dropped the pen he was holding when Stiles entered, obviously having his super-hearing switched off or something. He looked up at Stiles with wide eyes before they narrowed in distaste.

“What’re you doing here?”

“I’m here to see my best friend.” Stiles shot back, taking a seat across from Scott and wincing at the creak it made when he adjusted his weight. He peered over at what Scott was writing, spying his careless handwriting strewn across a picture of Kate Austen. “What are you doing?”

“What do you care?” Scott asked, then folded up the piece of paper and tucked it away inside his jeans pocket. He looked at Stiles harshly, breaking his heart just a little bit. Scott was a stubborn asshole sometimes. “It’s not like you’re part of the pack anymore.”

“You’re stupid.” Stiles offered, leaning onto the table. “I’m part of the pack whether you like it or not. And I don’t remember you disowning me and throwing me to the wolves, so to speak. So, like, get over it. Whatever you’re thinking, don’t. You’re wrong.”

“So, you didn’t take off with Derek and leave me, then?” Scott scowled and sighed irritably, making Stiles sigh too. “Because that’s sure as hell what it looked like to me.”

“I don’t care what it looked like, Scott.” Stiles shook his head quickly and didn’t miss the flicker of hope scatter across his friend’s features. “It wasn’t what you think it was. I already told you, Derek doesn’t want to take your place. And if he did, I’d stop him. Hell, I’d probably try to kill him.”

“No you wouldn’t.”

“Okay, no I wouldn’t. But I’d talk him down.” Stiles harshened his gaze, knowing he’d be able to talk Derek out of pretty much anything. Scott watched him carefully like he was trying to feel the lie somewhere in his words. “Whatever the hell’s going on with me and Derek, it doesn’t make a difference to my place in your pack. I’ll always choose you. And I think I’ve proved that crap ton of times in the past. Why would you ever doubt me?”

“It’s just—I don’t know.” Scott ran a hand over his face, and Stiles could tell his resolve was starting to crumble. “You’re carrying his scent.”

“You already told me that.”

“No.” Scott looked at him sternly. “You don’t just smell like him anymore. You’re carrying his scent.”

“What does that even _mean?_ ” Stiles asked, relatively panicked.

“Either you’re part of his pack, or you’re _his._ Or you’re about to be.” Scott sniffed suddenly, completely ignoring Stiles’ racing heartbeat apparently. “Did you make up with Lydia?”

“Yeah—uh, yeah. But not like that.” Stiles stammered, worrying about what Derek must have smelled on him. “She’s out there with Mal.”

“Don’t call me Mal!” Malia grumbled from the other room, revealing that she had been eavesdropping the entire time. So much for privacy.

Scott rolled his eyes. “Then what’s it like?”

“We’re friends.” Stiles said simply. “Why?”

“Did you see Derek? He was here.” Scott furrowed his brow upon realising that he hadn’t even been paying attention to who came and left in his loft.

“Yeah, he left. Abruptly.”

“He must have heard you coming, which is a lot more than I can say for myself.” Scott sighed heavily and put his face in his hands. “He came here and set the record straight last night, but I guess I wanted to hear it from you.”

“What’d he tell you?” Stiles asked, nervous. “He talked to you about me?”

“Yeah, I guess.” Scott said passively, like he wasn’t about to let Stiles in on whatever information he had. Ugh. “But I guess what he said is irrelevant now, considering how you’ve patched things up with Lydia.”

“What?” Stiles reached forward and grabbed at Scott’s arms, tearing them away from his face and forcing him to look at him. “What are you talking about?”

“Are you really that stupid?” Wow, what a slap in the face. “You’re carrying his _scent_ , Stiles.”

“Hello? Human!” Stiles pointed at himself, bewildered. He heard Malia bark out a laugh in the other room, which totally, not helping. “What does that mean?”

Scott faltered visibly. “Right. Well, I guess, _technically,_ you’re his. Or like I said, it’s a work in progress. But we can all smell it on you. Both of you.”

“His?”

“Yeah. If you were one of us, you’d understand it better.” Stiles shot him a disgruntled look. “It’s like, Malia and I share each other’s scents, right? Because we belong to each other. I didn’t know it was possible for it to be so strong since you’re a human, but I guess I was wrong. You smell like you belong to Derek.”

“Is that—” Stiles swallowed hard and glanced behind himself, before leaning forward and speaking quieter. “Is that something Derek can sense too?”

“Definitely.” Scott nodded solemnly. “It’s not like it happens overnight. It’s a gradual thing, so I’m guessing he’s known about it for a while.”

“Then why hasn’t he done anything about it?” Stiles huffed and crossed his arms over his chest. Derek was probably as emotionally constipated about relationships as he was everything else, but if he’d sensed something like that, why wouldn’t he have acted on it? Unless he never wanted Stiles in the first place.

There were a lot of mixed signals here.

“He has.” Scott told him. “He keeps seeking you out, for one. And he’s always listening to your heart, at your reactions to everyone else. He’s possessive of you, he just doesn’t show it.”

“And you all know this?” Stiles waved his hand around in disbelief, gesturing out to the living room where Malia and Lydia were probably hovering with their ears plastered to the door.

“Hard to ignore. I thought it was because he wanted you to be part of his pack, but I guess I was wrong.”

“Evidently. So…” Stiles started casually – or as casually as he could manage right now. “If he saw me and Lydia, I don’t know, holding hands or something…”

“He’d be pissed.” Scott confirmed warily. “Did that happen?”

“When we came inside. But it was totally, 100% platonic!”

Scott grimaced slightly in response, then faltered like he didn’t want Stiles believing how _shit_ of a situation he’d gotten himself into. Over a misunderstanding. Come to think of it, was there anything other than misunderstandings in this stupid pack? “Where did he go?”

Stiles barked a laugh. “How the hell would I know? You’re his keeper.”

“Derek keeps to himself. I’m not his keeper. He’d never let me have that control over him.” Scott shrugged, but Stiles could tell he wasn’t happy about it. Ah, inner-pack drama, the best. “Fix it.”

“I’m here to fix _this,_ ” Stiles waved his hand between them, “between us. One thing at a time.”

“There’s nothing to fix.” Scott said sincerely, taking the piece of paper back out of his jeans and putting it back on the table. “It was stupid of me to think you’d run away like that. And I’m sorry. You’re my brother, Stiles, I should never have doubted you. Either of you.”

Scott could be a grade-A asshole for a period of three months, then he’d go and say something like that and effectively reinstate himself as best friend for life. Ugh.

“Don’t do it again.” Stiles winked, knowing fine well that Scott would totally do it again and Stiles would totally forgive him again. Like they were stuck in the same cycle of loving and hating each other. “Now, bring me up to speed, idiot. Before I lose it and end up asking Mal about it.”

Scott handed the paper to him easily, breaking into a heavy speech about further indications that the Wendigo was still in town and wasn’t finished yet. They still had a few days before their window would close, so they had to find it fast. Kate Austen – if she wasn’t already dead – wouldn’t last much longer without food or water. God knows where she was, or what conditions she was being kept in, and Stiles shivered at the thought.

Eventually, Malia and Lydia joined them at the table and bickered with them about possible leads. Stiles learned that the others, mainly Theo and Corey, had been keeping an ear out at school to see if they heard anything. Nadda. Nothing yet, at least, but it was something. And it gave the younger werewolves something to do so they wouldn’t feel useless.

About an hour later, once Stiles had retreated with Lydia into the living room, sitting on top of a mess of papers strewn over the floor with multi-coloured highlighters, Derek came back. He slid open the doors and watched them carefully, not making a move to come inside. By that time, Scott had obviously switched on his super-hearing and approached the door before Derek came inside, speaking in a hushed tone.

Stiles mentally slapped himself for not being able to hear them, making Lydia roll her eyes. She nudged him gently and gestured with her head towards Derek.

“Now’s your chance.” She whispered, making Stiles peer over at the two of them. Scott raised an eyebrow over at Stiles and nodded.

Derek looked at him blankly once, before retreating back out the loft, his heavy footsteps echoing throughout the building as he descended back down the stairs. Scott caught Stiles’ arm on his way out, having flailed to his feet and made a break for the door.

“Calm yourself down first.” Scott instructed, making Stiles hyper aware of his racing heart. “If he thinks you’re lying, it’s not going to be pretty.”

“I’m fine.” Stiles croaked, shoving his feet into his shoes and giving Scott a short and stiff nod. Scott let him go and Stiles shot down the stairs to go after Derek, skidding to a halt once he got outside to find the werewolf leaning against his car with his arms crossed like he’d expected Stiles to follow him.

Derek was wearing a faded white t-shirt that didn’t protect his arms from the slight breeze in the afternoon air. Stiles searched his brain for something to open with, and honestly, “Do you never wear a jacket?”, was not the best thing to go with.

Derek just looked at him like he was an idiot. “Obviously I do.”

“Uh, not obviously.” Stiles took a few cautious steps closer, landing a few feet away from the werewolf. “It’s freezing.”

“I don’t get cold like you do.”

“Yeah, you said that. That doesn’t mean you can’t wear a jacket.” Stiles babbled nervously, glancing around himself. “I’m pretty sure werewolves can still catch hypothermia.”

“You’re not even wearing a jacket.” Derek gestured calmy to Stiles, who was admittedly only wearing a red flannel over his t-shirt. But it was still better than nothing. Except Derek had a look in his eye like he was about to take off running.

“Would you believe me if I said I don’t get cold either?”

“No.”

“Ah, well, was worth a shot.” Stiles shrugged and shoved his hands into his pockets, nudging some dirt around with his feet. “Scott forgave you?”

“There was nothing to forgive.”

“That’s what I said.”

“Then why did you ask?” Derek sounded frustrated, and Stiles’ met his eye cautiously, not really enjoying the look he was getting. He ached to clear the air between them but he didn’t know where to begin.

Hell, he didn’t even know if Derek _liked_ him that way. That scenting stuff could have been an accident. And Derek had a history of using Stiles’ emotions against him.

“Lydia forgave you.” Derek spoke before Stiles could answer, like he’d been itching to get it out. And there it was, that silent communication of betrayal. And…jealousy? Maybe. Stiles wasn’t very good at reading Derek sometimes.

“Yeah, she did.” He glanced back up at the loft, prompting Derek to do the same. “But you already knew that.”

“Not hard to guess.” Derek kept his eyes trained on the loft above them, cracking his knuckles. “I’m happy for you.”

“No, you’re not.” Stiles said bravely, because this was it. This was his chance. “You’re lying. I might not be able to listen to your heart, but I can tell when you’re lying.”

“I’m not lying.” Derek said calmly, stiffly, like he didn’t exactly want to be there. But then, nothing was stopping him from running away, getting into his car and speeding away from Stiles. Instead, he shook his head firmly and pushed himself off the car, his hands swaying at his sides.

“You’re lying.” Stiles repeated. “You know that loft is full of werewolves, right? I could just ask one of them to come down here and prove it. And trust me, you’d hate that.”

“What do you want from me?”

“Well, kind of a loaded question, right?” Stiles rubbed at the back of his neck, feeling the niggle of pain still in his shoulder. Derek’s face contorted in response like he didn’t understand what he was getting at. “Another perk of having a best friend who’s a werewolf? His senses, the one’s you’re obviously adverse to using.”

“What?”

“I’m carrying your scent. But you already know that.” Stiles took another cautious step forward, stepping into Derek’s personal space. Derek stiffened but didn’t move otherwise, not pushing him away, so he took that as a confirmation to continue. “And you were born a werewolf, so you know exactly what I’m talking about. Hell, it’s probably stronger for you, so I don’t understand why you’re making me spell this out for you. I’m a human for crying out loud.”

“You’re more than that.” Derek reminded him stiffly, hands clenching at his sides. Stiles watched him carefully, watching as Derek’s eyes flashed a quick and piercing blue. Which was totally hot as hell but he wasn’t about to ruin the moment by telling him that.

“Am I? Because you’re really doing an impressive job of making me think differently.” Stiles took a smaller step forward this time, their toes almost touching. Derek looked down at him carefully, like he was trying to understand Stiles’ intentions like he couldn’t already smell it on him.

“Not intentionally.” Derek told him, then raised his hand and pressed it against Stiles’ chest in warning. Stiles didn’t dare move. “Stop.”

“Why?” Stiles asked, doing his best to hide the hurt deep inside him. Derek’s brow furrowed painfully, like he couldn’t bear this going any further, but screw that. He could shoot Stiles down and that’d be just fine, he’d get over it. Eventually. But he had to _know._ “You could’ve stopped me a long time ago and you didn’t. Why start now?”

And it was true. Derek didn’t stop Stiles trying to kiss him before, so why now, of all times?

That just wasn’t right, so Stiles pushed. He’d push until Derek stopped him. He raised his shaky arm and clutched at Derek’s hand on his chest, feeling the heat from his skin on his fingers. Derek looked down at their hands with a furrowed brow then closed his eyes, like he was trying to soak up the feeling.

So Stiles pushed again. Somewhere along the way, he lost some of his courage, and ended up defeated, settling for resting his forehead on Derek’s shoulder and exhaling softly. Damnit, he really thought he could do this.

Derek inhaled sharply at the contact, like he’d never experienced such intimacy. Which was a total lie since he’d had his fair share of relationships before – terrible, terrible relationships, mind you – but relationships all the same. He was no stranger to intimacy. Stiles, however, was kind of the opposite. At least to this level of intimacy.

It was kind of…nice, actually.

It was even better once Derek obviously lost the internal battle he was having with himself, and rested his head against Stiles’. Derek was strong and solid against him, chest rising and falling with every breath he took, and it was _amazing._ It was _right._

The wolf pulled Stiles’ flush against him and wrapped his arms around him, squeezing the air out of Stiles’ lungs. He inhaled a ragged breath and let himself be held, restricted, because he was totally cool with that. Totally cool with that. Until Derek started nuzzling the top of his head, inhaling deeply, and sent Stiles’ senses into overdrive.

Derek’s stubble was rough against the side of his head, but that was just fine. The scape created some kind of tingling sensation at the back of his neck, making him shiver, and for some reason that made Derek hold him tighter.

So, their feelings were confirmed, then, if Stiles had any idea what requited _feelings_ felt like right now. He didn’t really know anything anymore. He just knew that he never wanted Derek to stop doing what he was doing, breathing him in like he belonged to him. And that would do, for now.

They might have stayed like that for hours if Stiles’ phone hadn’t buzzed and scared the life out of him. Derek loosened his hold so Stiles could wiggle his cell phone out of his jeans and flick open the message with his thumb.

 **Dad:** _Where are you?_

Uh, currently wrapped around Derek, thank you.

 **Stiles:** _at scott’s, be back soon_

 **Dad:** _Be home for dinner._

Yikes. Yeah, he was gonna get an earful when he got back, but he couldn’t find it in himself to worry with the way Derek was looking at him. The wolf observed him softly, gentler than Stiles thought he was even capable of. There were a lot of things he didn’t know about Derek. Certainly not _relationship_ Derek.

If it even _was_ a relationship yet. But it was something at least.

“I’ll drive you.” Derek offered, letting go of him and gesturing towards his car. Stiles had no choice but to accept his offer.

The ride back to his dad’s house was quiet but comfortable, the two of them sitting in silence most of the way aside from the occasional remark from Stiles about something mundane like the weather since he struggled to stay silent for long periods of time. Something Derek was completely accustomed to, apparently, considering getting more than two words out of him was a battle in itself.

But Stiles wasn’t worried.

At least until Derek pulled up to the house and he spied his dad outside waiting for him, standing on the front porch and squinting at the Camaro slowing to a stop at the end of the driveway. The absolute last thing Stiles needed right now was suspicion from his father. He unbuckled his seatbelt hastily and spared a glance over at Derek, who was looking in the general vicinity of his house with a concentrated expression. No doubt he could sense the Sheriff’s distaste from here.

“Uh, I’ll handle it.” Stiles managed, making Derek glance at him. “It’ll be fine.”

“He’s angry.” Derek said stiffly. The setting sun cast a shadow over his features as it enveloped the car, emitting a soft orange hue around them. “I owe him an explanation.”

“Well, no, you don’t. At least not right now. Just trust me, okay? And let me handle it.” Stiles stammered, struggling with his words as he looked back over at his dad’s growing impatience. “He wants you to come over for dinner.”

“He does?” Derek asked, seeming surprised. His eyes widened marginally before returning to his normal, semi-permanent scowl. Stiles nodded swiftly.

“Yeah, to ‘talk’,” He used hand quotations to express how dire the situation was, “or whatever. But it’s definitely not happening. So don’t worry about it. Uh. I mean. Yeah.”

“I’ll do it.” Derek said firmly, making Stiles whip his head around and gape over at him in disbelief. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

“Uh, he could _shoot_ you.”

“He won’t.”

“No, but he’ll damn well consider it. And I’m not about to carry your little werewolf ass to Deaton’s to get you patched up.” Stiles huffed out a humourless laugh considering it was a real, genuine concern of his. “Don’t think you can wiggle your eyebrows at me and talk me into this, okay? So quit it. Right now. I’ll get out of it.”

“I’m not doing anything.” Derek mused, continuing to furrow his brow like it wasn’t infuriating Stiles.

“Yeah, sure, whatever you say.”

“Don’t keep him waiting.” The wolf ordered, sounding stern and authoritative, and it made Stiles roll his eyes. He opened the door to the car and hesitated, looking at Derek over his shoulder. Derek nodded softly at him, and that was really all he needed to get out of the car comfortably.

His dad, however, was a lot less understanding. Once he’d managed to meander through the front yard, listening to the Camaro speed away behind him, he met his dad’s eyes carefully and was met with impending wrath. Shit.

“You’re telling me there’s nothing there.” His dad stated incredulously, like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing or seeing. Stiles had managed to escort him into the living room with little to no protests, listening to his dad convey his disapproval about the situation. He’d managed to sit and listen quietly for a while, letting his dad let it all out whilst sinking further into the sofa.

“It was true when you asked me, yeah.” He managed, once the feeling of impending doom dissipated and was replaced with sorrow, mostly on his dad’s part. “But now…well. Uh. I guess…”

“Now there is.” His dad seemed resigned to the fact, realising he couldn’t, in fact, control his son’s life any more than he could when he was a teenager living under his roof.

“Kind of. There’s _something._ ” Stiles shrugged nervously, picking at a loose thread on his sleeve. “Half-confirmed. I don’t know. Derek’s kind of a tough nut to crack.”

“Half-confirmed is enough for me.” His dad’s gaze hardened suddenly. “I want you to invite him over. When this is over, of course.”

“Uh, no? That’s really not necessary.”

“It’s not up for discussion.” His dad waved his hand dismissively at Stiles’ own flailing ones. “Invite him over or I’ll have him _pulled_ over and taken down to the station.”

“Dude, you can’t just _do_ that. That’s a total abuse of power!”

“I’m the Sheriff.” His dad stated. “I can do whatever I need to, to protect my son.”

“I don’t need protection from Derek, Dad. That’s ridiculous.” When it became apparent his dad was intent on staring him down with the same eyes he probably used to coax confessions out of murder suspects, Stiles knew he was done for. And he had no choice but to awkwardly, unwillingly, clear his throat and agree.

They ate dinner in silence that night, with Stiles shoving his food around on the plate with his fork, too discombobulated to eat. His dad let him stew quietly in his own mess, in a swirl of thoughts revolving around Derek and his horrific _meeting the parents_ scenario. Especially when there was a Wendigo running around somewhere outside, possibly lurking in the night looking for its next victim.

They really didn’t have time for this.

Nonetheless, once Stiles breathed a sigh of relief when he’d managed to retreat to his bedroom, he quickly sent a text to the source of his problems.

 **Stiles:** _do me a favour and don’t get a speeding ticket or something. my dad’s just waiting for a reason to pull you over_

He got a reply almost instantly, indicating Derek had already gotten back to Scott’s loft. He found himself wondering if Scott had sensed the change in the air around Derek, or if he could smell Stiles’ scent on him.

 **Derek:** _Good thing I don’t have any priors. Besides the obvious._

See: Derek Hale, previous murder suspect, exonerated.

 **Stiles:** _i’m serious right now. he’s not gonna let this go. if we ever find the wendigo and miraculously survive, well, hope you like meatloaf_

**Derek:** _I like meatloaf._

 **Stiles:** _that’s seriously all you’re gonna say?_

 **Derek:** _Yep._

Seriously. What a dick.

 **Stiles:** _you’re the worst_

 **Derek:** _We’re going to find the Wendigo. And when we do, I’ll talk to your dad. You worry too much._

With a frustrated sigh, Stiles sank down onto his desk chair and shook his head. Yeah, maybe he did worry a lot but that kind of came with territory at this point. If he wasn’t a ball of nerves most of the time, he wouldn’t have been so suspicious of the possible Wendigo case files in the first place.

And if he hadn’t have followed through on that lead, well, there’d be a hell of a lot more people dead. And he wouldn’t have had this – whatever _this_ was – with Derek.

 **Stiles:** _my worrying is what keeps you safe. it’s what keeps you all safe. ps. you’re a dick_

 **Derek:** _Even from a distance, I can tell you don’t really mean that._

Ugh, dude. Not cool.

Stiles didn’t bother replying, and settled for allowing his turmoil to consume him long enough for his eyelids to start drooping in exhaustion. He plopped onto his bed face first and slept like a log until the sun came up, but it wasn’t without a weird sense of loneliness, like someone was missing next to him.

__

Stiles didn’t really know when or how his bedroom became a haven for werewolves. But when Scott came crashing through his door sometime in the afternoon, followed by a disgruntled Malia and Lydia, he figured it couldn’t be good. He’d barely managed to make himself presentable, complaining he could have been naked or something since his friend had no concept of knocking anymore. But Scott didn’t seem to mind – nothing he hadn’t seen before, anyway, because hey, high school locker rooms were the _worst._

Turns out they just wanted the company, which was weird in itself. Lydia nestled herself against Stiles’ bed, enveloped in pillows and blankets with a pen tucked behind her ear. Malia and Scott crowded him on his desk, their growing impatience over the fact that they hadn’t come up with any leads in days becoming evident through their harsh breathing and scowling.

Derek was suspiciously absent from the not-so-formal meeting, but he figured he didn’t care for the audience between them. And besides, how else would Scott manage to parade Stiles downstairs into the kitchen on the premise of getting snacks – wolf fuel, as he’d put it, respectively.

“You know,” Stiles began, rummaging around in the cupboards for something substantial, “my dad only buys for two. If I’d have known you were coming, I’d have gone to buy something.”

Scott grunted, hidden somewhere inside the refrigerator with a mouthful of outdated grapes. “This’ll do fine.”

Stiles watched as his friend emerged from the fridge carrying last night’s leftovers. He rolled his eyes and closed the cupboard door. “That’s what my dad’s having for dinner, man, but be my guest. I guess we’ll just get take out. Again.”

Scott rummaged through the cupboards like he belonged there, already knowing where everything was kept. A perk of being best friends since kindergarten. Stiles still remembered Melissa’s designated hiding spot for junk food in Scott’s kitchen after all these years.

“So, uh.” Stiles cleared his throat as Scott dished some leftover meatballs onto a plate with a content look on his face. He had to bring it up sooner or later, and since he had Scott all to himself right now, it was as good a time as he would get. “Did you talk to Derek last night?”

“Didn’t have to.” Scott mumbled around a mouthful of meatball, which was totally gross. “Your scent was all over him when he came back.”

Stiles felt the tips of his ears heat up. “Nothing happened, not really, I mean. We just kind of—”

“You didn’t kiss him?” Malia asked, making herself known in the doorway before getting distracted. “Hey, that’s supposed to be for _all_ of us, not just you.”

Scott pushed an empty plate across the table and gestured for Malia to help herself, training his eyes on Stiles and swallowing what he had in his mouth. “You didn’t? I thought…”

“No, I didn’t. By the way, so glad to have your opinion, Mal.” Malia did nothing but roll her eyes and dig into her heaped plate, far too much for any normal person to consume in one sitting. Stupid werewolves. “But it wasn’t without trying. Just…lost my nerve, I guess.”

“But you’re together, right?” Scott asked. “You’re dating?”

“They’re mates.” Lydia announced from the doorway with a spring in her step, sashaying into the kitchen easily and holding out a piece of paper to Stiles. He grabbed at it blindly, stunned.

“I wouldn’t go that far.” Malia scoffed once Lydia took a seat and observed her fingernails. “What’re the chances Stilinski would find a mate?”

“Malia.” Scott said sternly, wiping his mouth with his sleeve and gesturing to the paper in Stiles’ hands. “What’s that?”

“New possible nest locations.” Stiles studied the paper in his hands, clutching it to his chest and crumpling the corners. “Where is Derek, anyway?”

Scott shrugged, unsurprisingly. “No idea.”

“You’re a great Alpha, boss.”

“Shut up. I’m not a zoo keeper, I’m a werewolf.”

“You’d lose all your animals if you were a zoo keeper.”

Lydia snorted and waved her hand around. “Boys. Focus.”

“Look,” Stiles began, already knowing what he was about to suggest wouldn’t digest well with the others, “there’s a lot of new places on this list, and we’re no closer to finding this thing than we were a week ago. We need to start hitting places faster. Meaning we should do it in groups. Split up.”

“Splitting up is a bad idea.” And there it was, the first quarrel with his master plan, coming from Malia. “Haven’t you ever watched a horror movie? Splitting up always ends up in more people getting killed. Oh, and the hot girl always dies first.”

“I won’t die.” Lydia rolled her eyes, prompting Malia to scoff.

“I was talking about myself.”

“Oh, _please—”_

“Girls, focus.” Stiles shot back, enjoying the way Lydia’s face contorted upon hearing her own words used against her. Scott was uncharacteristically quiet, so he was really Stiles’ best chance at getting the okay on this. “Look, we’ll cover more ground that way. We could probably finish this list tonight if we’re all on board. Meaning all of us.”

“I’ll draw the line at Theo.” Scott said promisingly, eyeing Stiles carefully from where he sat. “Liam and Corey will have to do.”

“Whatever.” Stiles shook his head. “They’ll probably be happy at being involved.”

“But we won’t be better for it.” Malia added, somewhat correctly. The other two werewolves were liabilities at the best of times, but had a history of proving themselves more times than Stiles could count, so, yeah. “You’re up for this?”

“Yeah, it’s the only way we can guarantee Austen’s survival.” Scott grunted and rose to his feet, facing Stiles. “My loft. Tonight. Don’t tell your dad.”

“Goes without saying.” Stiles agreed easily, pleased to be involved this time.

Lydia stayed at his house for longer than the others, and Stiles welcomed it. It felt normal for a while, bickering over trivial things like drama shows on tv and Lydia’s weird infatuation with styling his hair. He agreed to let her do it if they survived the night, and they shook on it, so really, there was no turning back.

She left sometime before the sky started turning darker, just before the sun began to set, leaving Stiles time to prepare. He left a note for his dad and stuck it to the refrigerator, a messy sprawl of gangly letters instructing him to eat all of his greens and go to bed at a reasonable time. As an afterthought, he added a simple _love you_ with a smiley face, just so his dad knew how important he was.

Even if Stiles was totally betraying his trust. Again.

But what he didn’t know, wouldn’t kill him, and that’s what Stiles was counting on.

He packed a bag full of essentials – his laptop, some chewing gum – hey, bad breath was _gross_ – and a few research papers he’d printed off throughout the day. He knocked over the pencil case on his desk and scattered his highlighters across the floor in his mad dash to leave.

Once he’d collected them into a messy pile, he spied the tattered piece of fabric he’d taken from the book store before. It had a funky symbol on it, all harsh lines and tight edges, and seriously, where had he seen that before? That’s why he’d taken it in the first place, before tossing it to the side and blaming his anxiety for trying to find a distraction from his newly gained feelings for Derek.

Feelings that were now totally consuming his every breath, and feelings that Derek returned. In theory.

Sighing, he placed it back onto his desk and frowned, knowing he’d have to look it up when he got home. _If_ he got home, on the off chance they actually found the seven-foot, slimy creature they were after.

The thought plagued him the entire drive to Scott’s loft, looking eery in the night sky like a bad omen under the scattered clouds. He managed to abandon his jeep on the side of the road, spying more cars than he’d ever seen at the location before. Derek’s shiny black Camaro was present, of course, since Stiles had looked for that first. There were a few other cars and Scott’s dirt bike sprawled messily across the lot. Show time.

It was like a circus inside the loft. A shitty werewolf circus, with shoes and boots messily distributed across the wooden floor panels. But at least there weren’t any clowns, because then it’d be a real nightmare.

“You’re late.” Corey hissed once Stiles entered, not bothering to waste time by removing his shoes at the door. He got a disgusted look from Scott, but he had bigger problems than the dirt Stiles was probably tracking inside.

“Nice to see you too.” Stiles shot back, feeling like his heart wasn’t in it. He scanned the room, eyes roaming over Malia and Lydia, who were engaged in conversation with a worried looking Liam on the sofa. Derek was standing off to the side, leaning against one of the concrete pillars, looking at him.

And that one look was enough to express how much distaste Derek was feeling about the new plan.

“Hey.” Stiles made his way over to the ex-Alpha cautiously, who straightened his back against the concrete once he got closer.

“Hey.”

“I’m guessing you’re totally adverse to us splitting up.”

“Scott made the decision, I don’t have anything to say about it.” But Derek’s face betrayed him, all tight and stern like he really didn’t want to go through with this. But once he spoke again, Stiles understood his concerns. “You’re with Liam and Lydia.”

Figures Scott wouldn’t assign Derek to protect Stiles, since the last time it’d happened didn’t work out so well for any of them. He offered an understanding smile anyway, wishing he had the courage to reach out and touch Derek’s arm. “Who are you with?”

“Corey.”

“Don’t need to sound so happy about it.” Corey interjected from wherever he’d been hiding. Because that wasn’t creepy at all. Stupid chameleons.

Stiles shot him a look to get him to back off, but Derek’s glare did the trick. Once Corey had retreated back over next to Scott, Stiles sighed and rubbed at the back of his neck. “We’ll be fine. We’re going to catch this thing.”

“I know.” Derek said stiffly. He pushed himself away from the wall and put a firm hand on Stiles’ shoulder, who almost choked at the electricity of it. “Be careful.”

The touch was brief, before Derek made his way over to the others, but it left Stiles breathless. Corey was looking at him curiously, some shock hidden in his eyes like he hadn’t ever witnessed Derek touch someone before. Certainly not Stiles, for that matter. It was something Stiles was still getting used to himself.

Derek was capable of passive possessiveness – where he wouldn’t impose control on Stiles’ life, but he’d set immediate rules between them.

Rules which were going to be broken tonight, considering he and Derek weren’t designated to be together. And clearly, with the visible stiffness in the ex-Alpha’s neck and shoulders, he wasn’t happy about it.

It kind of left Stiles feeling really proud of himself. Derek was possessive of _him. Stiles._

Totally adorable. If only a little scary, but he was fine with that.

Scott laid out the plan clearly and concisely. The others huddled around him and listened intently, because this was really life or death. This was it. It was now or never, and if they had any chance of taking this thing out and saving Kate Austen’s life, it was going to be tonight.

The plan sounded simple enough. Three groups – Lydia, Stiles and Liam, Corey and Derek, and Scott and Malia. Six locations to be hit simultaneously. Two deserted shipping containers on the edge of a quarry outside of town, two abandoned warehouses at the border, and two empty construction sites in the heart of town.

They were given the easiest sites, given the fact that their designated group consisted of two humans, which Stiles had protested about. But then Lydia had reminded him of her abilities and, well, he couldn’t really challenge her. So they were stuck with Liam.

Derek watched Stiles as he held the door open for Liam to climb into the back of his jeep, a stare which could have easily been misconstrued as enmity. But Stiles knew better. He knew how Derek felt about him, the possessiveness he felt. So he nodded firmly in his direction before climbing into his car and reversing out of the lot.

Lydia was quiet for a while whilst the others followed them down the dirt road, before meandering off in their designated directions. After a tense silence, she cleared her throat and turned around in her seat to peer at Liam. “How’s school?”

“Seriously?” Liam groaned in response, pulling himself forward until he could poke his head in between the two of them. “That’s what you’re asking me about right now?”

“It’s called small talk.” Stiles noted, but couldn’t stop his hands from tensing around the steering wheel with nerves. Liam rolled his eyes.

“School is fine. Boring. Scott’s been making us take extra classes.”

“So he should be.” Lydia hummed in response, picking at the fabric of her skirt. Stiles knew she was nervous too.

After another moment of awkward silence, with nothing but the hum of the engine to fill it, Liam cleared his throat. “So, have you and Derek been together this entire time or is it a new development?”

Lydia laughed. Stiles grimaced. “None of your business, shit bird.”

“A new development.” Lydia confirmed, completely ignoring Stiles’ look of utter betrayal and embarrassment. “A long time in the making. How’d you know?”

“You mean aside from the fact that he reeks of Derek?” Liam wrinkled his nose and Stiles had half a mind to stop the car and throw him out. “Derek’s…different.”

“Different?” Stiles prompted, glancing at Liam in the rear view mirror.

“I dunno. He heard you coming even before Scott did. And he’s super interested in the chaos going on inside your chest.”

“Come again?”

“Your heartbeat’s all over the place.”

“In case you haven’t noticed, this is a really stressful situation.” Stiles shot back in distaste.

All Liam did was shrug in response. Lydia shook her head. “Derek is complicated, which is putting it lightly. But we could all do with some happiness in our lives, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Well, obviously.” Liam appeared to consider it for a moment, his thinking face on, making Stiles huff out a laugh. “Are you mates?”

“What? No, we’re not.”

“Huh.” Liam didn’t look convinced. “Could’ve fooled me.”

“Really?” Lydia turned around curiously. “You think they’re mates?”

“The nose doesn’t lie.”

Stiles rolled his eyes and pressed on the gas. “Sure, trust the teenage werewolf.”

“Look, whatever I know I learned it from Scott.” Liam argued. “And where’d he learn it from again? Oh, yeah, _Derek.”_

Well, shit, he had Stiles there.

“What does a mate smell like?” Stiles heard himself asking, knowing they were nearing their first destination.

“There’s not a distinct smell, it’s more like a feeling. I just _know._ And you both smell like each other, so, it’s not hard to put two and two together.”

Lydia swivelled back around in her seat and pursed her lips in thought, watching as the street lights passed by blurrily outside. “Werewolves and their noses.”

“Tell me about it.” Stiles sighed and pulled to a stop at the edge of the first construction site in town. There was wire fencing surrounding the area, with scattered debris and a couple of construction vehicles decorating the otherwise empty lot. “Well, let’s get this over with.”

Lydia stepped out of the car first and held the door open for Liam, who took the lead naturally, considering he was self-healing and all that. He had the best chance of surviving if shit hit the fan. Lydia remained silent, like she was concentrating on whatever her instincts were telling her. Stiles knew they’d get a heads up if someone was about to die, so it was a small comfort.

Liam hopped the fence easily, climbing it like some kind of insect and landing on the other side with a grunt. Less than graceful, but whatever. He pried the fence apart with his claws, creating a small opening for Stiles and Lydia to climb through without being impaled.

The site was eerily quiet, and super dark. There was nothing to illuminate their path aside from the distant glow of a few street lights back where he’d parked his jeep.

It took them over thirty minutes to clear the construction site, searching inside containers and even some portable toilets, which wasn’t exactly a pleasant experience. They found nothing, and Liam couldn’t find a trace of the Wendigo’s scent anywhere.

With a resigned sigh, once they’d returned to the car after some brief bickering over what a waste of time it had been, Stiles sent a quick text to Scott to let him know. Scott’s response was brief, indicating they hadn’t found anything either. Furrowing his brow, Stiles sent a quick text to Derek, something to ease his nerves.

 **Stiles:** _nothing so far. you good?_

The reply was instantaneous, like Derek already had his phone in his hand.

 **Derek:** _Nothing at the first container._

Okay, everything was good. So far, at least. There was still more places to check, but at least they were halfway. The other construction site was close-by, so Stiles keyed the ignition and took off down the street. Lydia was twitching next to him, like her nerves were getting the best of her.

“It’s gonna be fine.” He told her, despite his own instincts telling him differently. “We’ll find it. And we’ll kill it.”

“I know.” Lydia nodded softly, looking over at him. “I just want to get it over with already. I kind of miss the quiet, you know?”

“I know.” Stiles agreed, thinking of the year of bliss he’d experienced at the academy. Even if he’d actually missed the action from time to time, the adrenaline flushing through his veins was definitely something he did not miss whatsoever.

“The quiet is worse.” Liam put in his unnecessary two cents. “When nothing’s going on, life is just…mundane.”

“Wow.” Stiles said flatly. “That’s a big word. You learn that in detention?”

“AP English.” Liam spat back. Lydia rolled her eyes.

“Does Mr Hickory still take that class?”

“Yeah, he’s never gonna retire. He’s missed the last couple of classes though.”

“I bet he’s still waving that flag around he had, you know, the one with that weird sun on it.” Lydia laughed, reminiscing, probably wishing she could time travel back to easier times. “What was it he used to say? If the sun’s shining—”

“If you want to see sunshine, you have to weather the storm.” Liam recalled with distaste, prompting Stiles to watch him curiously from the rear-view mirror. That sounded really familiar, given the fact that he and Lydia had attended that class a few years back.

“Yeah, that’s it.” Lydia said. “The storm being his semi-impossible literacy tests.”

“I know. Like that stupid sun on his flag would give us the strength to get through them.” Liam shook his head with a smile. “Do you know how many of those I’ve failed—”

“What’d you say?” Stiles asked quickly, looking over at Lydia. “A weird sun?”

Lydia furrowed her petite eyebrows at him. “He had flags, don’t you remember? He used to hang them up on the windows back when the AP classes were in the old building. They had this strange, half-finished sun on it. The classroom was scattered with them.”

“It looks like a toddler drew it. He doesn’t hang them up anymore since we moved into the new building, but I bet he wishes he could.” Liam added, making Lydia nod, but she was staring at Stiles like she could see the cogs turning in his head.

“Stiles, what is it?”

That symbol. It was the same one on the torn fabric he’d found at the book store, with the weird culty symbol on it. It was a sun, albeit a crappy one, with rays going in all directions in asymmetrical wiggly lines. Stiles remembered it now, but why the hell would he have found that in a bookstore that’s been closed for over a year now?

“You said he’s missed the past few classes?”

Liam frowned behind him, watching Stiles in the rear-view mirror. “Yeah, I figured he took an impromptu vacation.”

Stiles started shaking his head slowly, getting faster by the second until he felt dizzy. No, that wasn’t right, Mr Hickory didn’t take a vacation. It might have been a long shot, full of coincidences and half-assed, unexplained leaps, but Stiles’ instincts told him something was wrong. His old teacher must have been taken just like Kate Austen was. He didn’t know how he knew it, but he just did.

“Stiles, tell us.” Lydia sounded concerned where she sat, but Stiles didn’t look at her. He braked harshly and made a super illegal U-turn, accepting the speeding ticket that was surely already in the post. The red-head gripped onto the door handle and gasped at the hastiness of it all. “What the hell?”

“What do you think you’re doing?” Liam grunted from where he’d been tossed across the back seat, which served him right for thinking he was ‘too cool’ for a seatbelt. “The construction site is back that way.”

“We’re not going to the construction site.” Stiles barked harshly, putting his foot on the gas. “Listen to me. I found that stupid sun symbol on a shredded piece of fabric when I was out with Scott, searching in that old book store in town.”

“What’s that got to do with anything?” Liam huffed, gripping onto the head rest just shy of Stiles’ neck. “So you found one of his flags, so what? Why the hell’d you turn around?”

“You think he’s got something to do with this.” Lydia said flatly, like she couldn’t believe how Stiles had managed to connect the dots. “Why?”

“Because he has to be. Liam said he missed classes, right? When, in all the years we went to that damn high school, did Mr Hickory ever miss a class?” Stiles didn’t have time to yield the stop sign ahead and settled for powering through, ignoring the disgruntled driver to his left. “It has to be connected. I don’t know, I just—I _know_ something is wrong. I think the Wendigo has him too.”

“What?” Liam barked at him, poking his head in between the front seats. “Just because you found one of his flags? Scott told me there was nothing at the book store, no leads, nothing.”

“I don’t _care._ I have to check it out.” Stiles shot back, looking over at Lydia hopelessly, but the woman just watched him carefully like she couldn’t decide if he was lying or not. “If you aren’t happy with it, feel free to get the hell out of my car.”

“Where are we going?” Lydia asked suddenly, ignoring Liam’s scoffing between them. “To the bookstore?”

“No, we already checked there. It’s empty.” Stiles’ gaze hardened. “We’re going to the old school building.”

“You’ve got to be shitting me.” Liam shook his head and whipped out his cell phone, obviously intent on letting Scott know what was going on. Before he even managed to unlock it, Lydia snatched it out of his hand and cradled it in her lap.

“The others didn’t check the old building.” She hissed at the werewolf, before turning her attention back to Stiles. “You really think it’s there?”

“I don’t know, but I need to check it out. I need to find _something_ to explain why the hell one of those stupid flags was in that book store. If you’re not happy with it, I’ll understand, but Lydia, I have to do this.”

Lydia observed him quietly for a moment, calm and calculating, before turning around and looking at Liam. The wolf grimaced for a short while before decidedly sighing and nodding. Great, full team then. It might have made Stiles feel better that the others had his back, but he kind of felt like he’d doomed them too.

Lydia tossed Liam’s phone back at him with a scowl. “Don’t even think of letting Scott and Malia know. There’s enough inside drama right now, we don’t need anything else distracting them.”

“What about Derek and Corey?”

“Don’t tell them.” Stiles said instantly, not even wanting to hear what Derek had to say about it. But he had to follow this through with or without the ex-Alpha’s approval, so he figured it’d be better to ask for forgiveness than permission.

“We ask for forgiveness, nor permission.” Lydia told Liam, making Stiles glance at her with a smile. Banshee mind reader.

After Liam rolled his eyes, Stiles gunned it down the street and made some questionable swift turns, making the others grip onto the nearest handle and gripe about his mad skillz. But whatever, they were doing this.

The old school building, over at the old side of the campus, was of course surrounded by metal fencing, with a big sign that read _trespassers will be prosecuted._ Prosecution was the least of their concerns at this point, and staying alive was the priority. Derek would probably bail him out anyway, so there was that small comfort in the back of Stiles’ head as he cut the engine and turned in his seat towards the others.

“You ready?”

“Not in the slightest.” Lydia said honestly.

“I’m ready to get this over with, if that’s what you mean.” Liam rolled his eyes and stepped out of the car with a resigned huff once Lydia held the door open for him.

Like before, Liam hopped the fence and cut open a hole for them to climb inside without being poked in the eye or something by the protruding metal. Stiles took the lead this time, followed by a disgruntled Liam and hesitant Lydia. The campus was dark and eerie, with a few graffitied school buses scattered across the parking lot. There was only a single motion sensor light at the doorway to the building, which was generously chained closed with a larger than life padlock.

Liam broke it easily, crushing it inside his palm and de-tangling the metal chains around the door handles. Stiles sucked in a deep breath and looked at Lydia carefully, who met his gaze and nodded firmly.

“Stay close together.” Liam ordered, both hands on the door handles as he readied himself to bust it open. “Stay in the line of sight of each other. The last thing I need is one of you dying and the pack tearing me a new one.”

“Save the speech and open the door, imbecile.” Lydia shot back half-heartedly, like she could already sense something was off. Liam obeyed at least, throwing the doors open and remaining stationary as they slammed off the side walls with a loud, metallic groan.

Inside the building looked like a reject from a horror movie set. Cobwebs and debris covered the floors, lockers taking up most of the wall space, some half open and vacant and half-crushed. This was it, it had to be. It was as dilapidated as the gas station where Scott and Malia had gotten their asses kicked.

Yay, Stiles was right. Why’d he have to be right about this, of all the things?

He could remember when this place was bustling with teenagers, himself included, full with life and the latest gossip. Now it was just…awful. But he persevered, narrowly dodging the litter on the ground and half-empty bottles of alcohol.

“Looks like that no trespassers sign was a waste of time.” Lydia commented lowly, keeping her voice down. Liam snorted ahead of them.

“You really don’t wanna know what it smells like in here.”

“No, we really don’t.”

“Keep moving.” Stiles instructed, letting Liam sniff the air and lead them further into the old building. They cleared a couple of classrooms with ease, nothing but discarded furniture and papers inside, but it didn’t feel right. The entire building felt _wrong._

Liam, obviously sensing Stiles’ nerves, grunted, “Keep close to me.”

So he did. Lydia followed behind them quietly, glancing around the wide hallway strangely like she was having déjà vu. Which would totally be right considering she’d walked these halls before, sometimes with Allison or Jackson at her side, other times with Stiles. Memories she probably wished she could forget, and Stiles didn’t blame her.

“Which one is Hickory’s classroom again?” Stiles asked carefully, following closely behind Liam’s tense back. The werewolf pointed further down the hall with an extended claw.

“It’s at the end of the hallway.” Liam glanced to look at him, opened his mouth then abruptly closed it again. His eyes travelled somewhere behind them.

“What?” Stiles whipped around instinctively, but nothing was behind him. No Wendigo, no ghost, no werewolf, nothing. Only Lydia, who’d apparently stopped to hover next to a random locker somewhere along the way.

“Lydia.” Liam said incredulously, like he was readying himself for a fight. Stiles frowned over at the red-head and took a few steps towards her. She was frozen solid with her eyes wide open, unblinking, making him halt in his tracks, because he knew that look.

“Lydia—”

Lydia erupted, a scream coming from somewhere deep inside her chest and all but deafening the others. It echoed throughout the entire building and made the windows start vibrating, getting louder and louder as each second passed. Stiles covered his ears instinctively, watching Liam shoot forward and grab Lydia by the arms, shaking her incessantly.

Danger. They were in immediate danger. That’s all Stiles could think.

Lydia was a warning system after all, saving their asses on countless occasions.

This just didn’t happen to be one of them.

He tried moving forward but something struck him in the back of the head, sending him crashing to the ground with a pained groan. He watched through blurred eyes as Liam growled and surged forward, only to be thrown back through the air and clatter through the side windows. Then everything went black.

_tbc_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to those who have made some very nice comments so far, they all warm my heart <3 
> 
> Sorry to leave it on a cliffhanger like this, but at least there's some Sterek mixed in between!


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